Death Do Us Part
by June Smith
Summary: Eric follows Sookie to Sam's brother's wedding. Continues from Dead in the Family.
1. Little League

Sam had been coaching Little League for three years, but it was the first time I'd made it to a game.

"Cody, eyes on the ball!" Sam yelled to Holly's little boy, who wasn't so little anymore. Cody had grown a foot since I'd seen him last, when a psychotic trapped him in a trashcan. That might sound like extraordinary circumstances, but it was normal for me. These days, it seemed like I only saw people when their lives were in danger.

I sat by myself on the top row of the bleachers. I'd thought about sitting with Holly, a few rows down, but she was on a date with her fiancé Hoyt. He had his arm around her shoulders and was cheering Cody louder than any of the real dads. I hadn't wanted to spoil their family time and I didn't know the other spectators well. All of them were older than me—Holly had Cody young. Most were in twosomes: moms and dads, boyfriends and girlfriends. I was the only one without a kid on the field.

Sam chose that moment to catch my eye. He smiled. The bits of Sam's hair peeking out from under his baseball cap glinted copper in the evening light. I was too far away to catch his thoughts, but he gave me a little wave so I wouldn't have to. He was thinking of me. I waved back. Maybe we could get dinner at Crawdad's after the game. All of a sudden, I felt giddy. My heart sped up and I couldn't help grinning. The intensity of my reaction surprised me. Sam smiled at me all the time.

"Hello, lover."

I glared at Eric, sitting next to me in what had been empty space ten seconds earlier. So my weird happiness hadn't come from Sam. I should have known. The longer I lived with Eric's bond the less I was able to separate it from my real feelings and the more it scared me.

Eric stretched out like he owned the field, resting his long legs on the row of bleachers in front of us. His usually perfect hair was messy from flying in to ambush me. "Hi," I said, through clenched teeth. Eric wasn't on my favorite person list. I hadn't seen him in two days. That might not seem like a lot, but it was practically an eternity considering how much time we'd been spending together.

Since Eric's family got staked in my yard, we'd been going at it three times a night, maybe more. There was something about his newfound freedom that made him horny and him horny always revved my engine. We hadn't talked about what had gone down that night, which was fine by me. What was there to say? A lot of people die when we hang out? The conversation wasn't leading anywhere good.

"You are still angry at me." Eric said. Between the bond, the stink-eye I was giving him, and the two days of incommunicado, I was surprised it took him this long to figure me out.

"I'm going to Sam's brother's wedding." We'd had this fight two days ago, which precipitated the not hanging-out. I was already missing the regular sex, but I'd rather swear celibacy than admit it to Eric.

Eric moved closer to me. I leaned into him without meaning to. He didn't look at me, but he smiled. I could feel something close to satisfaction rolling across the bond. Jerk. I looked around for Sam. As one of two adults on the field, he wasn't hard to find. Sam's had his back to us as he shouted at his kids, but there was something deliberate in the way he faced away from the bleachers. I figured Sam had seen Eric arrive. No one else paid us any mind.

If Sam was deliberately not looking at us, Eric was deliberately not looking at me. His eyes were fixed on the field. Sam's team, in blue caps, was at bat against the red caps from Monroe. "You're not here for Little League," I said to Eric.

"No." Sometime in the silence Eric had wrapped his arm around my waist. It felt so natural I hadn't noticed. I minded that I didn't mind. "I came to say goodbye before you go."

"Thanks," I said, teeth still clenched. Two nights ago, Eric made a big stink over the wedding. He said he didn't want me leaving because I would be outside his protection, but he was jealous of me taking a trip with another man. Eric knew there was nothing between Sam and me. Even if there were, I wasn't the kind of woman who cheated.

This was as close to an apology as Eric would give me. While I appreciated him trying, I wasn't going to back down because he'd finally realized he couldn't stop me from having my own life. He'd be happy if he could keep me on a leash.

My annoyance must have filtered through the bond, because Eric slipped his arm off my waist. Suddenly, the bleachers exploded in cheers. I looked up in time to see Cody slide across home plate. Sam clapped Cody on the back. Holly jumped up and down, clutching Hoyt's hand as he wolf-whistled. Hoyt grinned at the people near him and even turned around to give me a thumbs up. I waved back, so I saw the moment Hoyt noticed Eric. Hoyt's smile tamped down a notch and he gave Eric an awkward nod.

Eric didn't say anything, but I felt something thrum in the bond. Anger, maybe, or even embarrassment? Or were those my own feelings? For whatever reason, Eric's discomfort touched me in a way his apology hadn't. I felt protective of him. After all, he was on my turf.

"Come here." I scooted close to Eric and tucked my hand into the back pocket of his jeans. There was only a thin layer of cotton between me and Eric's best asset. Yum. "It's only for a weekend."

"I will see you Monday." This was Eric's way of asking me to stay over.

"Sure." There was no reason not to visit him. Besides, I would want to see Eric after a weekend of no physical contact. I wanted to 'see' him now and he was sitting next to me.

Some agreement achieved, we were quiet. I watched Cody race down the at-bat line, collecting high fives. Eric stared at the back of Hoyt's head. "Do you enjoy this game?" he asked.

"I'm here to support Sam." I said, then regretted it. It wasn't the most delicate comment considering our fight, but that didn't make it less true. Eric acted like he hadn't heard me, which was one way of dealing with it. I tried to dredge up other reasons why I was here so the Sam issue wouldn't loom so large. "I like kids. I like baseball. I played softball when I was in school. It's a lot like this, except the ball is different. I was pitcher. That's the person throwing to the one with the bat."

"I also played a game like this while I was alive," Eric volunteered, surprising me. He almost never spoke of his human life. "We hit a ball with a stick. Otherwise there are not many similarities."

"Did you like it?"

"Yes."

"Do you miss it?"

"Being a vampire is better."

"Well, I miss softball." Nowadays I got out my aggression beating up supes, or in the case of Bruno, knifing them. I missed the days when no one got hurt and I could feel better by throwing a strike out.

"I will miss you when you are gone." Eric surprised me again. "Pam is not the same."

"It's because she doesn't let you in her pants."

"That is not the reason." I was afraid Eric was going to take the conversation somewhere serious until his smile turned into a leer. "At least, not the main reason."

I laughed. Flirting was more familiar territory than goodbye. "I'll miss you too." I sighed and put my head on his shoulder. It felt good to have Eric sitting next to me. It was much easier to be mad at him when he was away in Shreveport. "Honestly, I've missed you these past two days. I hate fighting."

"You could agree with me more."

Eric said it like he was joking and maybe he was, a little, but I knew there was part of him that really meant it. "What do you want me to say, Eric?"

"I want you to come back safe," he said. "I want you to miss me. I want you to never see the shifter again."

I'd handed Eric an opening and he'd run with it. I should have known better. "What if I gave you two out of three?"

"Not good enough."

"It's going to have to be. I have my own life."

"Yes," he said, I think to shut me up. Then he kissed me. It did a more effective job of shutting me up than any words he could have used.

Eric and I had our share of problems, but physical compatibility has never been one of them. My heart sped up as his lips moved over mine. I heard myself moan and had to pull back. There were kids on the field.

When we broke apart, I saw Sam staring at us. Little blue-hatted batters crowded around him, oblivious. When Sam noticed that I'd noticed him, he looked away.

Eric noticed too. He didn't hide his smile. "He will not bother you."

"He wasn't going to." I was mad.

Eric laughed and kissed my cheek. "See you Monday, lover." Then he was gone. I felt a whoosh of air, so I figured he'd taken off. Sam's team was still at-bat and everyone was focused on the game, so they missed the flying Viking.

Monroe's red hats squeaked out a win, even with Cody's home run. I was too embarrassed about Eric's smooch to find Sam after the game, but I ended up chatting with Holly and Hoyt. I got to my car after most people had left. Sam was still around, loading bats into his pickup. I wondered if he'd been waiting for me.

"Good game," I called to him. The lot was so small I couldn't avoid him. After Eric's display, I wanted to run home, but Sam and I were going out of town together this weekend. I had to face him.

As was usual with him, Sam didn't waste time dancing around the problem. "So Eric's not happy about the wedding?"

"He can stuff it." I said. "I want to have a nice, normal weekend. I don't want to think about blood or bonds or vampires or anything but meeting your folks."

Sam smiled. "Ok. Normal I can do."

I thought I'd feel better after clearing the air, but I felt the same, maybe even worse. What I really wanted was a weekend without people dying all around me. That's basically what I meant by 'normal,' but if I told Sam that, he'd know how screwed up my life really was.

I said goodbye to Sam, drove home, and threw clothes into an overnight bag. It was only midnight when I climbed into bed. There were five hours until dawn and seven until Sam and I left for the wedding. I missed Eric, but figured that was the lack of sex talking. I reached for my phone to call him, then put it back. I had to be awake soon. He was busy in Shreveport. Dealing with him would make me mad or sad.

Maybe a weekend apart would do us good.

_**Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO. Thanks for reading and reviewing! **_


	2. Chicken

When I woke up, Eric was naked in my bed. "Stay," he whispered and put his hand between my legs. Talk about below the belt.

"Keep that up and maybe you'll convince me."

I forced my eyes to stay open. It would be 72 hours until I got more Eric. I wasn't going to sleep through the best part of the next three days. And he wasn't about to let me. Eric moved his fingers and my eyes opened—wide. He grinned, all fangs. "Do you miss me yet?"

"Yes." I would have said anything to keep him going, but luckily, 'yes' was enough. Eric slid under the sheets and replaced his hand with his mouth. I was really thankful Eric wasn't above using sex to get what he wanted. On occasion, I've called Eric a world-class kisser. I'll just say it applies in all venues. Warmth spread throughout my body, my legs seized up, I saw the Northern Lights on the back of my eyelids—and then right when I was about to reach my good moment, Eric pulled away.

Eric's pants were on before my mind caught up to my body and I realized he'd stopped. My pulse thudded in my ears, all ramped up with nowhere to go. I wanted him back, stat. "Eric."

He paused in the doorway. "Yes?"

Below the belt, I was furious, but above, my anger was fading. I didn't have to read his mind to know that he was upset about the trip. "You've made your point."

Eric crossed his arms. "And?" He wanted me to say I would stay. That wasn't going to happen. If I caved, I'd encourage his bad behavior. If Eric weren't so blinded by his weird insecurity, he'd see he had no reason to worry about Sam.

I would never say any of that to Eric's face. He was too proud to take it well. I didn't want him to leave and it wasn't just because I wanted sex. We weren't going to see each other in three days. I let the sheet fall to my waist. Eric's eyes flicked down, taking me in. It made me feel beautiful. "Come back. Let's have a real goodbye. I'll miss you."

"Then don't go," he said, but he walked back to bed and let me draw him under the covers. I straddled him and placed his hands on my hips. He was still for a minute, but when I rocked into him and gave him a smile, he groaned. "Do you love me?" he asked.

"Of course I do." Eric stared at me. I could tell he wanted me to say more. "Eric, I promised Sam. I have to go."

Eric glared. "You want to go."

"Sure, but its because I want to meet Sam's family, not because I'm trying to leave you."

"You run away," he said. "I've seen this with Bill, Quinn."

"Watch it, buddy." Eric was my boyfriend, not my shrink.

He stared at me. "I am watching it. Why do you defy me?"

Yeah, that conversation wasn't happening. I'd get mad, Eric would get madder, then dawn would come, and no one would be happy. What would be the point? "I don't want to talk about this. Can't we just have sex?" Eric was still in the mood. It's easy to tell with him and I was sitting in just the right spot. I rolled my hips as a reminder—or a diversion, so sue me. Eric flipped me over onto the mattress, knocking the air out of me. I took that as a go signal. "Thanks, honey."

I began to unbutton his pants, but he stopped me. "We'll have sex when you explain why you're leaving town with him."

He was impossible. "Sam is my friend. "

"You have many friends."

"Actually, I don't." I cringed at the whine in my voice. I wasn't trying to throw myself a pity party. Eric needed to understand why Sam was important. "I know too much about people to get close and I spook most folks anyway."

"They are humans." Eric said 'human' like an insult. He put his arm around me. "You are special to me."

I leaned into him. "You're special to me too. You're not going to like it, but so is Sam. He's not special in the way you're special, I mean, you're number one to me, but these days I feel like Sam is one of the only things still tying me to, I don't know, Bon Temps, the human world, the world I grew up in. Sam's a shifter, but he lives like a human. I don't have to worry about coups or dying or killing Victor Madden, which by the way, we need to talk about. Sam's normal."

"Normal by what standard?" Eric sounded offended.

"Normal for humans. Your world scares me, Eric. I love you and I'm trying, but I hate all the killing and dying."

"It had been a rough month," Eric said.

"Yes." I couldn't argue with him, but considering the body count, 'rough month' barely seemed to cover it.

"Don't be afraid." Eric said, probably picking up on something in the bond. He drew me closer to him. "You are good at not dying and you're getting better at it."

"Yes." Again, I couldn't argue with him. It took a certain skill set to survive around vampires and I was honing it. Eric had been proud of me when I knifed Bruno. I'd been happy that I hadn't been dead, but I didn't feel great about killing him. I wanted people to stop dying around me. I was afraid I would wake up one day and it would be normal. I used to think that I couldn't live in that kind of world. Now, I was afraid that I could. I wanted to go on the weekend trip for a simple reason: It would be fun to meet Sam's family. But I also wanted to clear my head. I needed time away from Eric to think about what we'd been through.

It wasn't that I didn't love Eric. I really did. I knew he was basically a good man, but death and violence were the currency of his world. I say that knowing I'm no pacifist myself: Eric and I had been full partners in the bloodbath on my front lawn. It was the partnership that frightened me. Eric might say I was getting better at not dying. I would say I was getting better at killing.

Eric broke the silence. "You are upset."

I buried my face in his chest. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Eric ran his hand through my hair again. "That's too bad, lover. You need to make me understand why you're leaving me to be with another man."

"That's not what I'm doing."

Eric let go of me. By the time I sat up, he was waiting at my bedroom door. He had put on his shirt and his jacket was in his hand. "You are two different people," he said. "You ask me to stay and you run away. Which do you want?"

"I want you." Right now.

"If that were true, you would not be going."

"Don't tell me what I feel." Eric was such a control freak. I did want him. I always wanted him. I opened my arms. "Come back."

Eric stared at me. Then, he put his jacket on my dresser. Thank god. I threw off the covers and scrambled to meet him on the far side of my bed. He leaned in as if he were going to kiss me and said, "You can come to me."

Then, he was gone.

"Let me have the last word!" I yelled. My house creaked back at me.

_**Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO. Thanks for reading and for the reviews!**_


	3. Road Rage

At 9 am, Sam and I whipped past the 'Welcome to Texas' sign. I rolled down my window and whooped. I was officially out of Area 5.

Sam glanced over from the driver's seat. "Going wild on me, Sookie?"

"Just haven't been out of Louisiana for a while." I leaned out the window, closed my eyes, and tried to forget the world was bigger than the breeze on my face. "Gosh, this air is nice."

Sam cracked his own window. "Sure is." He seemed to get where I was coming from, but it could have just been the dog thing.

"If you want to go collie later, I can take the wheel."

He smiled. "I'll take you up on that."

Sam's family lived in Wright, Texas, ten hours west of Bon Temps, getting up near the panhandle. We planned to drive straight until we passed Dallas, reward ourselves with lunch, and then plow north. Sam's mom expected us for dinner.

"Don't be surprised if she feeds you the whole fridge," Sam told me. "Mom's dying for company. She hasn't been out much since the divorce."

"I can't wait to meet her." I hoped it went better than my recent meet-the-folks experience. Since Sam wasn't related to psychotic Russian royalty, the odds were ahead. Thinking of Alexi brought me back to Eric. "Sam, what did you tell your Mom about me?" Sam and I weren't dating, but with family gatherings—weddings in particular—people made assumptions. My fight with Eric last night showed that too well.

My phone rang before he could answer. It was an unfamiliar number with a Shreveport area code. I've started screening my calls—since my kidnapping, I can't be too careful—but I decided to answer in case it was Eric's new day man. Before I picked up, I said a mini-prayer for Bobby. We'd never been each other's biggest fans, but he hadn't deserve to die. I hoped someone would think of me when I was gone. "Hello?"

"Sookie Stackhouse? This is Jannalynn."

"Are you calling for Sam?" He looked up at the sound of his name. _Jannalynn_, I mouthed. He blanched. "How did you get my number?"

"Alcide. Why are you going to a wedding with my boyfriend?"

What was it with Jannalynn and Eric? "It's not like that, we're friends," I said, which, while true, sounded like the worst kind of excuse.

I sort of admired Jannalynn's gumption to call me and talk things out direct—'sort of' being the operative phrase because her gumption was by another standard rudeness. By any standard, Jannalynn was not the kind of girl you rushed home to meet the folks. In my experience—which consisted of a little common sense and a lot of eavesdropping on private thoughts—parents meeting their grown kid's boyfriend or girlfriend judge them based on their ability to hold a polite conversation. I'd call Jannalynn a lot of things before I called her Miss Manners. I'm not saying she can't be polite. I'm not even saying it would necessarily be good for her to tone down her attitude. What I am saying is I wouldn't introduce her to my parents until I was sure that I loved her and that I'd fight for her no matter what. Because she was the kind of girl who started fights. Sam and Jannalynn had been dating for what, a month tops? In my opinion, it was too soon.

I didn't know if that's what Sam was thinking because I try to stay out of his head, but I did know Sam would bring Jannalynn home when—and if—they got serious. He wasn't the kind of guy to hide someone he cared about.

If I had to talk to Jannalynn, but I wasn't going to do it by myself. This wasn't just between the two of us. It wasn't even mostly between the two of us. Sam was doing his best to watch the road and me at the same time. I'd save him the trouble. "I'm putting you on speaker phone," I told her.

"Whatever," Jannalynn said, and then as I hit the speaker button, "tell Sam he has a week to get you out of his system, or I'm done." She hung up.

"Charming." I'd never been a huge fan of Jannalynn but I'd always tried to watch my words out of respect for Sam. "You told her we were going to this wedding, right? She didn't find out from someone else."

"I told her," Sam said. "She wasn't happy. You probably figured that out."

"No, she was all peaches and cream." I sighed, regretting the sarcasm. I could relate. "Eric's been laying into me too. Well, you saw last night."

"I got the impression." Sam scowled. "Sookie, I invited you. You accepted. Eric can deal with it. You shouldn't apologize for being friends with me and I won't apologize for spending time with you."

I was touched. "I'm not sorry I came. Look, I think she's being, you know, how she is—" I wouldn't say 'bitchy' out loud "but I understand why she's mad. Why they both are. I think its dumb, but people assume, with weddings." Sam looked uncomfortable. He knew it was true. So did I, but that didn't mean I had to cave. In fact, I was more determined not to. Smallmindedness was still smallmindedness, even if you could see where it came from.

"Sookie, you know I like you, but I would never—we're both with other people—"

I was embarrassed he'd felt the need. "Sam. Of course."

Thankfully, that was it. We both looked out the windows and after a minute or two Sam had cooled down enough to feel charmed by his girlfriend getting all territorial. "She's pretty brave, calling you up." He was trying not to smile.

I'd never seen him get misty over Jannalynn. "She could have given me a heart attack." She wouldn't have minded.

"She's a firecracker. I like that. Keeps me on my toes."

"Make sure she doesn't burn them," I said, but I knew I shouldn't really talk, dating a vampire. Sam didn't call me on it. Instead, he laughed. All of a sudden, I wanted to tell him about the bloodbath on my front lawn, but didn't know how to bring it up and, honestly, I was afraid of how he would react.

A loud honk saved me from initiating a conversation I was sure to regret. I wheeled around to see a biker riding Sam's bumper. He was the kind of guy who thought he was too tough to wear a helmet: mutton chops, leather, hasn't had a hair cut since the seventies, you know the type. The biker leaned on his horn, trying to get us to speed up. I glanced at the odometer. We were already fifteen over.

"What's this fool doing?" Sam's brows knit together as he eyed the rearview mirror. "If you wanna pass me, pass me." Sam addressed Mad Max directly, even though there was no way he could have heard. He turned to me. "What's his problem? This isn't a one-lane highway."

That's what got me suspicious. It was an early morning. The road wasn't busy and Evel Knievel could have easily changed lanes and left us in the dust, if he wanted to. He went from jerk to threat in less than a second. I unhooked my seatbelt and spun around to look at him straight-on. I tried to get a purchase on his thoughts, but he was too far away. He must have seen me eyeing him, because bared his teeth. He looked like a wolf.

Then he accelerated.

I tried to keep a lock on his thoughts. It was harder than I thought. I'd never tried to read a moving target before. I got a taste of his thoughts as he eased parallel with us. They were jumbled, snarly. I recognized the pattern immediately.

As Road Rage barreled by on Sam's side, he saluted us with the ever appropriate, "Bitches."

Sam sniffed. I thought, like me, he had figured out something wasn't right and was trying to catch our new friend's scent. "Were?" I asked.

Sam nodded. "You can tell from thoughts?"

I nodded as the biker cut in front of us. Sam slammed on the brakes, which screeched their protest. We went from 90 to 75 in a flat second. My teeth rattled around in my head.

The biker laughed and waved. Goodbye to you too, asshole. The rebel flag fluttered from a stick poking off the back of his bike. There was a sticker below it. I squinted: a fleur-de-lis. I looked lower. "He has Louisiana plates." Damn. He probably followed us.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Sam started scrabbling around the floor like he was trying to claw his way to the undercarriage. "Pen," he said, when I asked what he was searching for. I fished one out of my purse and he copied down the biker's license number on the back of an old receipt. "He looks mean."

Mean didn't cover half of it. "He looks hired."

"Open the glove compartment."

I did as I was told. A silver handgun sat on top of Sam's owners' manual and registration. I shut the door. "Good to know."

Sam looked at me. "What do you mean hired?"

I wouldn't drag Sam into vamp shit. He deserved better. I hated it when Eric was right. I shouldn't have come. "Look, why don't you just drop me off at the Dallas Greyhound station? I'm sorry about the wedding. When I'm gone you'll be fine." If this biker was from Victor Madden, and my gut screamed that he was, I probably had to call Eric at first dark. He would just love it.

Sam pulled onto the shoulder and shut off the pickup. "Sookie, you know I won't do that."

"Should we be stopping?"

"Sun's high in the sky and it's a weekday morning. If it makes you feel better, roll up the window." As I did, Sam pressed the automatic lock button. "Sookie, that guy would have run us off the road. If you know what's going on, tell me. I want to help."

"I don't want you getting hurt."

He looked right back at me. "And I don't want you getting hurt."

The less a normal person knew about vamps, the better. Period. But Sam's safety was at risk. I couldn't, in good faith, keep him in the dark. Besides, from a selfish angle, I wanted to make a plan and needed his help to do it. Eric was always good to bounce ideas off of. I missed him, and then caught myself. It spoke volumes about Eric and my relationship that having my life in danger reminded me of spending time with him.

I manned up and spat it out. "I think the biker came after us because we passed out of Area 5 with the state line."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Area 5?"

"Eric's territory."

Sam's eyebrows went higher. "Eric has territory?"

"You know Eric's big dog in Shreveport. Well, it's more than just Shreveport." Sam still looked confused so I backtracked. "The vamps have set themselves up by state, you know that right? I guess they've got clans too." I couldn't remember the details. Appius and Alexi's arrival upstaged Eric's lecture, and I hadn't been that into it to begin with. Even so, I was almost sure Texas was in a different clan than Louisiana. I knew Eric and I had talked about Stan, which meant we'd talked about Texas.

"Clan?"

"Don't ask me to tell you the names. They're sort of earth-mother sounding, it's weird. What's important I think, and I could be remembering wrong, is different people run Texas than the people Eric work for. Not on the King and Queen level, well that too, but also on some bigger vampire clan level."

Sam looked like he was going to be sick. I was surprised he seemed so upset. "Eric told you this?"

"He thought it might keep me from getting killed." This was probably the moment Eric had been anticipating, although I still didn't see how knowing vampires created a bunch of fruity-sounding clans would help me survive. "Are you okay?"

"No one knows this," Sam said. "If Eric's telling you, he must mean to turn you."

Turning hadn't crossed my mind, but why would Eric—who was usually so secretive—share part of his world, if he didn't intend on having me share all of it? "He promised not to," I reminded myself. "We talked about it."

But Eric always found a way to do exactly what he wanted.

My phone saved me from Sam's reply. It was an unfamiliar number with a Shreveport area code. Again. "Jannalynn, one second," I said to Sam and answered. "What?" I knew shouldn't have picked up, but after Sam's turning comment, I was hoping for an excuse to yell.

"Sookie Stackhouse?" It was a man.

I went from mad to worried fast. "Yes."

"This is the Shreveport Police Department. Do you know Eric Northman?"

**_Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO. Thanks for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate your feedback._**


	4. Pit Stop

"The police officer asked if Eric had enemies."

Sam looked worried. "Did you tell him the truth?"

"Really?" Sometimes Sam surprised me. "I don't want the policeman dead. He seemed like a nice guy." I'd gone to school with boys like the officer I'd talked to—J.B. DuRhone for one. They were nice and uncomplicated. They clocked in, clocked out, and had a full life—if single, with buddies at the bar, if married, home with the kids. Sniffing around vamps was the quickest way to wreck an easy day-to-day.

Sam shrugged. "It sounds like an honest question to me. He has no way of knowing how complicated the vampire world is."

"Complicated? You mean brutal."

"Sookie, you've got to keep faith Eric's all right—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

We zoomed past a sign with the McDonalds logo on it: _Last stop, 50 miles_. "At least let me get you breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, I could eat." Sam pulled the truck onto the off ramp. As we slowed, signs ticked by: Holiday Inn, McD's, Carl Jr, IHOP. "You sure you don't want to sit down?" Sitting down meant conversation. I shook my head no so we inched into a Valero gas station. Sam parked at the pump. "I'm going to fill her up. Could you grab us food for the road? Maybe some of those white powdered doughnuts?" Sam held out a couple dollars. He was trying to distract me. I felt managed and sort of resented it, but not enough to fight him. I took the money.

"Thanks."

Sam kept a hold on my wrist. "He's going to be okay, Sookie."

I couldn't let myself agree, in case I was wrong. It would be like losing him all over again. "We'll know at dark." I left before Sam could reply. I couldn't talk about Eric any longer. I didn't even want to think about him, but my own mind was harder to run away than Sam.

Someone set fire to Fangtasia just after dawn. The blaze spread to the other buildings in the strip mall Eric rented space in. The anchor store was a big Lowes and its outdoor lumberyard caught fire. The Shreveport Fire Department was still working to keep in under control.

I didn't know if Eric had been in Fangtasia. It was possible. He kept a coffin in the basement for nights when he worked late. The police had found Eric's corvette in the lot. The officer called me because now that Bobby was gone, I was registered as Eric's daytime contact with whoever registered those kinds of things. He hadn't known that Eric and I were involved. I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him outright, but I'd been upset enough he must have known something was up.

When I hung up, I told Sam. Being the good guy that he is, he offered to drive me back to Shreveport. I wouldn't have any of it. Sam needed to drop me at the Greyhound station in Dallas. He couldn't miss his brother's wedding, especially after his sister had just let him start playing with her kids again. He didn't have to prove anything to me, but he needed to put on a good face for the family. Sam didn't think I should travel alone. We fought about it and I won.

Now that we were here at the station, I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to think about food. I didn't want to do anything. But I went in search of Sam's doughnuts. I guess that's what friendship is.

Like most gas stations, this one had a jack-of-all-trades convenience store. An oily-faced teenager manned the register, headphones in his ears and his hand on his cell. I suppressed an eyeroll and found food just south of the beer. Sam's doughnuts were front and center. I looked at corn chips for a while but the thought of putting anything in my body made me feel sick. I was too frightened to eat. I kept imagining Eric dead, which was imagining nothing, because he'd decompose or evaporate or flake away, and it would be as if he never existed.

I picked up my cell and called him. It went straight to voicemail, which didn't mean anything because it was daytime. Eric had one of those anonymous phone company recordings—he was too paranoid—so I didn't even get to hear his voice. A robot woman repeated Eric's number at me and asked if I wanted to leave a message. I did. Duh. That's why I had called.

"Eric, this is Sookie. Call me when you get this. I love you. Be safe." I prayed with every bit of myself he wasn't dead.

When I finished, I hung up. I felt like I was looking at the world as an outsider. I didn't know if Eric was normal dead or really dead and no one but Sam was even aware of it: everything else went on like it was a normal day. The teenager-clerk rocked out in his own headphoned bubble, refrigerators full of milk and beer glistened at me. I didn't want to keep going like nothing had happened, but I didn't know what else to do. I could either scream or check out like a normal person, so I went to the counter with Sam's doughnuts.

I decided to use the bathroom. I wasn't sure I would get another opportunity before Dallas, but it was mostly that I didn't want to go back to the car in case Sam made me talk. I wished I could pop back to Shreveport like Claudine and Claude. When I asked for the bathroom key, the clerk told me he'd given it out already, but said if I waited round back for the current occupant to vacate, I could go ahead with my business.

I walked out of the shop, waved at Sam—still at the pump—and picked my way around the carwash to the bathroom. A rust-stained door marked TOILET stood between some old weeds and the vacuum station for the carwash.

I checked my phone, even though there was no way Eric could have called me back.

The bathroom door clicked open. The biker who cut Sam and me off earlier this morning stood inside the bathroom, zipping up his pants. I didn't know his name, but it might as well have been 'Trouble.' "What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.

He didn't answer with words. I had time to yell "Sam!" before he pulled me into the bathroom and locked the door. I scrunched my phone in my hand. I didn't care what it did as long as it called someone. The biker smacked it out of my hand. He grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the mirror. His thoughts were snarly. All I could pull out was intense rage.

"Are you working for Victor Madden?" I choked out. It was hard to breathe.

The biker growled deep in his throat and bared his teeth.

There was pounding on the door. "Open up, this is the police." I recognized Sam's voice. Thank god. The biker growled and tightened his grip around my throat.

"I won't press charges," I lied. I'd have said anything make him open the door.

The biker laughed. "Your boyfriend is not the cops."

Sam wasn't my boyfriend, but that seemed like a moot point as the biker's fingers tightened around my throat. I tried to kick the biker but I couldn't find the strength to do damage. He was so much bigger than I was. My eyes fixed on an ant scrabbling under the door. I looked away. If I let myself zone out, I'd be dead. I scrabbled, tried to claw the biker, kick him in the balls, anything than would give me an advantage. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the ant meander across the tile. The air around it wobbled and stretched, vibrating like highway heat.

Then Sam stood in front of us, naked. The ant was gone. Sam was the ant. The shapeshifter thing never got old. When Sam launched himself on the biker, it gave me an opportunity to scramble away. I unhooked the bathroom lock and I stumbled into the daylight. I was going to run for help, start screaming, anything, when I noticed Sam's clothes in a pile and on top of them, the silver handgun from his glove compartment. I grabbed it and pointed at the biker.

The biker had his arms around Sam. Sam struggled, but the biker was bigger and probably stronger. His hands were around Sam's throat. He pulled up Sam's head and tried to force it into the toilet bowl, probably to drown him. I saw Sam's eyes bugging out, so I fired.

A red stain spread across the back of the were's head. He fell to the floor with a thud, leaving Sam heaving over the toilet.

I looked at the dead body. I looked at Sam. Sam looked at the dead body.

"Sookie, it was self-defense."

I didn't want to hear it. "I know that."

"He would have killed you."

"That's what self-defense means." I didn't want to talk about it. My heart was thudding. I didn't regret killing the were, but I couldn't believe he was dead and I'd done it.

I dropped the gun and Sam picked it up, grabbed up his pants, and automatically began wiping off the prints. Then he stopped and looked at the gun as if he were seeing it for the first time. "It was self-defense," he repeated. "We should go to the police."

"No," I fought to keep myself from yelling, I was so frustrated. "Someone sent that biker sent to kill us. That someone is probably a vampire. How well do you think the police will fare if they start sniffing around vampire business?"

"Sookie, we don't know who heard that shot—"

"I know how well the police will fare. They'll fare dead. We can deal with this. If he is from Madden, no one will report it. I don't want anyone else to die. I can't believe I shot him." Sam, still naked, held the gun in a strategic position. "Please put on your pants."

Sam looked at me, really looked at me, then sighed. It made me uncomfortable. I wanted to know what he was thinking, but I stopped myself from dipping into his head. Mostly, I didn't want to be alone with my own thoughts. "Cher, I got a case in my truck bed. All the Little League bats are in there. It's trunk-sized." That was code for body-sized.

"You got keys in those pants?"

Sam picked up his jeans and fumbled through the pockets. "Bring the truck around back," he said as he handed me the ring.

I wanted to run, but I was able to keep a steady pace as I passed the vacuum station and rounded the car-wash to the front. An old grandfatherly type walked out of the convenience store, welcome bell jangling behind him. He was chewing on a pack of fresh jerky. He gave me the once over—boobs, legs, face, back to boobs. "Morning, ma'am."

I favored him with a big old smile. "Beautiful day." It wasn't, but it'd be a lot worse if he figured something was wrong.

The grandfather cupped his hand around his ear. "Come again?"

"Nice day," I enunciated. He was deaf. That was convenient. As the grandfather wandered back to his car, I stuck my head into the shop. "My truck's getting dirty. I'm going to take it to the vacuum station out back."

The clerk stared at me, then plucked headphones out of his ear. I could hear the bass thumping from clear across the store. "Say what?"

"Do I pay here for the vacuum out back?"

He looked at me like I was missing half my brain. "You put a quarter in the slot," he said, then dropped the headphones back in his ear.

Alibi established, I hopped in Sam's truck. My hand shook, but I was able to get the key in the ignition. I eased the truck around back of the convenience store. It was only twenty feet or so, but I felt every bump. My teeth rattled around my skull like they were trying to punish me for my bad deeds.

When I got there, Sam had his clothes on. He leaned against the bathroom door like he was waiting to use it. The biker was nowhere to be seen. I figured Sam had hidden him in the bathroom.

I forgot the keys in the ignition when I leapt out of the truck. I had to climb back in to get it out. Even though God probably didn't want to hear anything I had to say right now, I was praying up a storm that nobody was watching me. I was acting more scared than a liar in church.

I cast around for minds. I felt the clerk inside the shop. One person—the grandfather—was off towards the front. I felt Sam. That was it. No one was spying on us. I gave Sam a look. This was our chance. As Sam opened the bathroom door, I climbed into the back of his pickup. Instead of a trunk, he had a large padlocked case bolted up against the cab, roughly person-sized. I fumbled around Sam's keys until I found one the same color as the lock. It slid in easy. I opened the cover.

I stared.

Then slammed it shut.

The case was not full of Little League bats.

"What are you doing?" Sam stood in the bathroom door, both arms wrapped around the biker's corpse. He was doubled-over with the weight.

"Eric's in your trunk," I said.

Sam dropped the biker.

_**Where's Pam and her chainsaw when you need her? Thanks for reading and reviewing. Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO.**_


	5. Gumbo

I locked Eric's trunk. He wasn't getting out until I let him. Maybe I'd free him tonight. Maybe I'd free him next week. It depended how pissed I was come dusk. Right now, I was pretty pissed. Eric usually toed the line between concerned and controlling, but if he didn't have good reasons for stowing away, he'd crossed it. Big time. "We're going to have a talk when you wake up," I said to the trunk.

My voice echoed in my ears. I'd needed to hear 'wake up' to believe he would. Eric was dead, but he wasn't finally dead. When Eric woke up—and he would wake up in six hours and counting—I was going to chew him out. I couldn't wait. I'd yell, get him all riled up, and then get my hands all over him. I was high on relief. I wanted to kick Eric's trunk almost as much as I wanted to climb in and spoon him. I grinned at Sam, then caught sight of the body at his feet. It brought me back to earth.

Eric would wait until dark. The body couldn't. If Sam and I didn't move fast we would get arrested or worse, killed by Victor. And if we were dead, Eric was toast. Literally. Anyone could open Sam's trunk.

I gave Sam his keys. "We need a plan, so this is what we're going to do. We've got to get out of here. Then we're going to hide the body." Eric could have gotten rid of it easy, but dusk was six hours away. Even if it weren't, I wouldn't let Eric to hide another corpse for me. He'd done it once, with Debbie, and twice was too close to a pattern.

Debbie's body made me think of Basim's, which made me want to cry. I had hoped this wedding would be an escape from the craziness and violence that had dogged me for months. I should have known better. "Sam, you need to go on to the wedding. I could use your help with the corpse, but after that, you can drop me. I'll only stay until dusk when Eric wakes up."

"I'm not dropping you." I opened my mouth to protest, but Sam shook his head. "Sookie, you saved my life. That's the end of it."

"People will target you as long as I'm around."

Sam grabbed the biker's shoulders and motioned for me to take his feet. "We can talk about this when we're moving. This body's not hiding itself."

Sam was deflecting me, but he was also right. The longer we argued, the bigger chance somebody would find us. I took the biker's feet. As we heaved him into the back of Sam's truck, I remembered that Alcide and I had dumped a corpse. "We need a shower curtain, weights and a river."

Sam considered it. "Wal-Mart has everything but the river."

"Wal-Marts are everywhere. "

"Yeah, but we've got to get to one first." Sam clambered into his truck bed and squatted next to the biker. "We can't move him. If we hit a bump, he rolls onto the interstate. If we're pulled over, forget it."

I had a solution, but I hated it. "Your cab seats three."

The seatbelt helped keep the body upright in the passenger seat. Sam's baseball cap hid the bullet hole and my sunglasses covered its eyes. If you didn't get too close, the biker could almost pass for passed out. When I squeezed next to Sam, in the driver's seat, there was an inch between the corpse and me. Its nearness made the hairs on my arm stand on end. Sam must have noticed because he asked, "You want to drive?"

I wanted to drive more than I've wanted anything, but Sam was broader than me and if he sat in the middle, he'd rub up against the corpse. I couldn't let him do that. "Thanks, but I'm too nervous." I couldn't look at the body so I stared at a crack on Sam's windshield instead. Beyond it, I could see the gas station bathroom. The door was ajar. The biker had cracked the mirror over the sink throwing me against it. Anyone who came back here would be able to tell there had been a struggle. "Sam, we've got to go."

As we turned out of the gas station, my phone rang. It was an unknown number with a Shreveport area code. "Don't answer," Sam said.

"It's got to be about Fangtasia." I picked up. "Hello?"

"Miss Stackhouse? This is Officer Rollins from the Shreveport Police Department. We spoke earlier today."

I tried not to look at the body next to me—no reason to tempt fate while talking to the police—and hit the speaker button so Sam could hear. "What's up?"

"I have news you'd better to hear in person. Can you come to the station?" Sam and I exchanged a glance. There was no way I was going back to Shreveport with a dead body in my car. Two dead bodies, if you counted Eric. Even though the Shreveport police officer couldn't possibly know I'd killed the biker, I started to panic. Why did he want me to come in? Was it a trick to arrest me? Was he working for Victor?

I worked to keep my voice calm. "I'm on an extended trip. Friend's wedding. Can you tell me over the phone?"

"We'd better do this face-to-face."

Sam waved to get my attention. "Hold on," I said to the cop, and put my hand over the mouthpiece. "I think he wants to arrest me."

Sam shook his head no. "I think it's a notification." I looked at the corpse before I could stop myself. Shivering, I put the phone back to my ear.

"Who died?"

"You don't want to hear this over the phone," he said, confirming Sam's suspicion.

"Officer, I'm out of state. Please tell me. Knowing is better than wondering." If I didn't know Eric was alive, I wouldn't have been able to hold it together. My voice was wavering with just Pam to worry about.

He sighed. "I have to clear this with the sergeant. I'll call you back." The line went dead.

"My dad was in the army, like a lot of shifters. I think I've told you. It was before the mess we've got nowadays, so it was safer, honestly. But even back then you never wanted to hear in-person news." Sam looked over at me. "So I'm not thrilled Eric's in my trunk, but I'm glad you don't have to wonder."

My phone rang. I didn't want to pick it up. "Your dad was okay, right?"

"Yeah, long career, retired. He died safe at home." Sam nodded at the phone. "You should answer that."

I opened the phone and hit speaker. "Sookie."

"This is the Shreveport police again." The cop sighed. "What I'm about to do is against procedure. If I tell you what you want to know, you'll be waiving any right to suit, protest, anything. I don't want to see a notice about emotional damages crossing my desk, okay?"

"I'm not going to sue you."

"We found two coffins on the premises. Both suffered heavy fire damage and contained vampire residue." As the cop spoke, I looked over at the biker. His head lolled. The cop could just as easily make the same phone call to the biker's family or his pack, whoever they were- _'We found a gas station bathroom that showed signs of a struggle...'_ Once Sam and I hid the body, the biker's people would never know what happened to him. I hadn't had a choice when I killed the biker and I'd shoot him again to save Sam, but I felt awful about it. By the same token, we had to hide the corpse. There was no way around it. But the biker's family had the right to know where he was. Knowing _was_ better than wondering. Once Sam and I had gotten the situation under control, I'd figure out some way to contact the family.

The cop had stopped talking. I needed to wrap up this conversation. I couldn't take much more of the cop in one ear and the body pressing up against my shoulder. "Could you ID the vampires?"

The cop paused. He was reluctant. But he'd committed and I'd promised not to sue or whatever, so after a painful ten seconds, he said, "Eric Northman and Pamela Ravenscroft. The coffins contained wallets with legible paperwork. We're holding them at the station for you, so you'll have something to keep or bury."

Eric's name was a surprise but Pam's caused actual dread. I didn't know how much longer I could hold it together. "Thank you. I'll be back in Shreveport next week." I hung up. There wasn't anything more to say.

Sam looked grim. "If Eric's in my trunk, who's in his coffin?"

"I don't know." I wasn't sure I wanted to. "But if Eric escaped, maybe Pam did too." Was I a bad person wishing death on a stranger? I couldn't help it. I hoped the remains were anyone but Pam.

Sam and I found a Wal-Mart two exits down I-20. Leaving the corpse alone was impossible. We decided I should shop, since Sam could escape by shifting if anyone saw the body. Eric couldn't escape so easily, but I wouldn't let myself think about it. There wasn't anything more we could do. Sam dropped me off a block from Wal-Mart. We agreed to meet in twenty minutes.

As I picked past the RVs parked in the periphery of Wal-Mart's Olympic-sized lot, I took out my phone. The more I thought about it, the more my shower curtain plus river plan seemed hopelessly naïve. Where were Sam and I going to find a river secluded enough to dump a body? Even if we did, bodies washed up all the time. Sam and I would leave fingerprints on the biker, not to mention microscopic clues we wouldn't be aware of. The plan had too many problems. At least when Alcide and I dumped the body, we hadn't been guilty. Now, I didn't even have that going for me.

I needed a consultant. I opened my cell's contacts and scrolled to the Cs.

"Hooligans strip club. We rise to your occasion. Now reserving for bachelorette parties, fundraisers, and ladies nights."

"Claude, it's Sookie. I need help."

A month ago, Claude might have hung up on me. It was a testament to how far we'd come that he stayed on the line, albeit silent.

"You remember that woman who had a problem with Claudette?" I was alluding to Hooligans' previous owner, who'd been stupid enough to murder Claude's sister. After giving the guilty woman 24 hours to run, Claude—I assumed, never asked—tracked and killed her. From this incident, and the little I knew about fairies, I was willing to bet Claude knew how to hide a corpse. "What did you do after you found her and you... talked?"

'Talked' was a euphemism, but I didn't want ask Claude outright in case someone tapped my phone. Before you call me paranoid, think about my life. Besides, when I'm not evading assassination, I have time to watch SVU. I know police have been recording private calls since 9/11.

"I didn't talk to her," he said.

"I know that."

There was an awkward pause. "Why are you calling me about this?"

"I didn't know who else to try."

That was sort of a lie. Alcide was next on my list, but I really didn't want to talk to him. The last time we'd seen each other, he criticized me for dating Eric and then made me to take hallucinogens that indirectly led to the execution of one of his pack members. It's a long story. What mattered was Alcide weren't on the best terms. He would probably judge me for needing to dump a body and find a way to blame Eric for the murder, neither of which I needed right now. At least Claude was family.

Claude interrupted my pity party. "Sookie, what are you doing right now? Where are you?"

"I'm shopping." Shopping and sulking. I'd reached the end of the parking lot. Wal-Mart's doors slid open. As I hurried inside, the greeter gave me a big grin and said something chipper. I wished we could trade lives.

Claude sighed. "If you're shopping, remember to get a saw. For when we remodel your kitchen."

My kitchen was new. I wasn't remodeling it. Claude understood me. He would help. But then I registered what he actually said. Claude wanted me to cut up the body. "No way."

"Buy a saw, gallon-sized Ziploc bags, and rubber gloves," he said. "The gloves are for gumbo," then, like I was a slow child, "I always use them."

"Claude. Ew. Stop."

"Don't ew me. You called. If you're going to ew me, call your boyfriend. Try ewing him and see how he likes it." Claude hung up.

I'd offended him, but he'd get over it. There was no way I was going to use a saw. Even if it got me arrested, I'd treat the biker with more respect than that.

I couldn't stomach calling Alcide, so I decided to stick with my original plan and swallow the consequences. I walked past home improvement like I didn't see the saws and went to bathroom decor. I picked up a shower curtain and, borrowing Claude's only good idea, stopped in kitchen for rubber gloves. I grabbed heavy cord in camping and dropped by exercise for two ten-pound weights. On my way to the register, I swung past beauty. On impulse, I grabbed a box of brown hair dye, just in case.

The hair care aisle was right across from electronics, where a big plasma TV played CNN. I was twenty feet away, but I recognized Fangtasia immediately. The screen was marked LIVE. I ran to the TV. It was all I could do to not drop my shopping basket. The front of the club was streaked with smoke, but the fire was out. I saw Eric's red corvette in the back corner of the shot, parked behind the bar. It looked okay.

"—Involved in an illegal drug ring, which seems national in scope," the anchor was saying. "I don't know what recent reports of Mr. Northman's death will mean for the government's case." A van screeched into the shot. The side read DEA. A dozen SWAT agents with automatic weapons leapt out.

Just when my eyes were about to bug out of my head, my phone buzzed. It was Sam. "You'll never believe what I'm seeing on TV—"

"You have to get back to the truck now." Sam sounded scared.

"I'm on my way."

I raced through the checkout and back to the parking lot. Sam was waiting in front of the store. He leapt out of the cab so I didn't have to climb over the corpse. As soon as I sat down, Sam climbed back in the truck and gunned it.

"What's going on?" I asked. Sam pointed to the radio. He rolled up the volume. The last chords of "Jesus Take the Wheel" filled the cab.

Sam had never cracked under pressure as long as I've known him. I hoped he wasn't going soft on me now. "Jesus is great, Sam, but I'd rather make a plan." As Sam flew over a bump, the corpse's head bounced up and down. It looked like he was nodding agreement.

"Listen," Sam said, as Carrie finished warbling. "It's been coming after every song."

The radio DJ piggybacked Sam. "And we're back with a special announcement for you folks. Texas State Police are looking for blue pickup with Louisiana plates, carrying two persons of interest in a murder investigation. Last seen in the Tyler area, they are believed to be armed and dangerous. Keep your eyes peeled and see if you can't help the law out on this one. Number is 903-21C-RIME, that's 90321 Crime."

I grabbed my phone and punched in the number. "Sookie, don't—"

I held up my hand to shush Sam. "Tips hotline," a woman answered.

"Hi, I'd like to report a sighting of that blue truck ya'll talked about on the radio." Sam barreled onto I-20 West. "I'm just past the Louisiana border and I saw it heading east on I-20. I think they're going for the state line."

"Where are you, ma'am?"

"I don't know, maybe fifteen minutes over the border. An hour from Shreveport? I'm sorry, I've got to go, my baby's crying." I hung up.

Sam looked at me with something close to awe. "That was good."

"I hope it buys time, but someone's going to spot us eventually," I said. "How are we going to get through Dallas? There are millions of people. If we take off the plates, we'll get pulled over. If we ditch the truck, Eric will die. You should probably shift, so there's only one of us." That was the only variable we could fix. "By the way, Fangtasia was on TV and Eric getting indicted by the government."

"What?" Sam swerved to avoid a merging semi. The body fell on top of me, knocking the Wal-Mart bags off my lap. One of the ten-pound weights bounced onto my foot. The biker head dropped onto my cleavage.

I'm proud to say I didn't start crying. But I really wanted to.

_**Eric's up next. But will his explanation explain anything? Thanks for reading and reviewing. Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO.**_


	6. Traffic Stop

As we sped toward Dallas, I told Sam what I'd seen on television.

"I think Eric's being set up," I finished. "He's a lot of things, but he's not dumb. He wouldn't cross the feds."

"It would explain a lot," Sam said. "The fire at Fangtasia, the assassin, the cops chasing us down. It's too much bad luck to be a coincidence."

"I just know Victor Madden is behind it," I said. "If I could find his daytime resting place, I'd bust in there and wring his scrawny neck."

Sam's his phone rang before he could reply. "It's my brother. Give me a second." Sam's brother was getting married two days from now. In the hoopla surrounding the corpse, I'd forgotten the wedding.

Sam flipped his phone open. "Hi Craig." Sam paused and I could hear yammering on the other end of the line. "Yeah, we're still a couple hours out. We've had car trouble. I hope we make it in tonight, but we might have to get a motel. Uh," Sam paused again, "it's the transmission, I think. Rehearsal dinner is tomorrow?"

Then Sam was silent, peppering the conversation with "uh huhs" and "yeahs." After a few minutes, he sighed. "I know how Mom is, but your wedding means a lot to her, especially now." I could hear Craig chattering loudly on the other end of the line.

"Of course you have a right to be angry." A beat. "Just hang on until I get there, okay? Don't elope. Good." After another pause, Sam laughed. "Sure I'll say hi, but it's Sookie, not Cookie." Sam flashed me a smile. "Yeah, with an S."

_Say hi_, I mouthed.

"She says hi back. Ok, sure. Take care now."

"What's up with your Mom?" I asked as Sam hung up.

"She's a difficult lady," Sam said, "and these last few months have been bad for her, with the shooting and the divorce and the hoopla over Craig's marriage. The wedding is one thing she can control. She's micromanaging and Craig's feeling the pressure."

"You think he'll get cold feet?"

"No, he loves Deidra. He's mad at our Mom. Craig threatened to elope, which would break her heart," Sam said. "I think deep down he's still angry at her for keeping the shifting a secret all these years. He's probably mad at me too."

I understood why Craig would be upset. When Sam first told me, I'd been mad and we weren't even family. "It's a big secret to keep. But he'd be a fool not to forgive you."

"Thanks." Sam said. "He called to see when I was getting in. I can usually reason with Mom. We're close. It probably comes from the shifting and it helps that I don't live at home."

I felt guilty. Sam had spent enough time on my problems—the body and the fire and Victor. He had issues of his own. "You've got to get to Craig's wedding." I said. "I'd loved to have met him, but you need to drop me when Eric wakes up. This mess will follow me and I won't drag your family into it."

"I'm not dropping you," Sam said. "We've already talked about this."

"You've helped so much already, but Eric and I can handle this." When my situation got worse—and it would get worse—I wanted the shit to go down somewhere other than Craig's wedding. "I can't have a bunch of vampires follow me to Wright."

"It would distract from my family's drama," Sam said.

I think he meant it at a joke, but I wasn't amused. "Come on, Sam. I'm not kidding." I kept imagining Victor Madden busting into the church and draining one of Deidra's bridesmaids.

"I'm not either. What kind of friend would I be if I left you hanging?"

"If you stick with me, you're going to get hurt."

"So I should let you get hurt instead? Think about how I'd feel if I left you in the middle of Texas with no car and a hungry vampire."

Why did every guy in my life criticize me for dating Eric? I was sick of it. He wasn't perfect, but I could make my own choices. "Eric is not going to eat me."

"Turn of phrase. I'm sorry. No offense meant." Sam turned off the radio and looked right at me. "Sookie, listen. Wright is probably safer for you than Bon Temps or Shreveport. Who would think to look for you in there? It's got one streetlight, one main drag. It's basically off the map. What about we think of this trip as mini-witness protection?"

If Victor was unrolling a takeover of Eric's territory, Area 5 was probably the worst place for me to be. Even so, I hated to think that I could bring danger with me. I flashed back to my nightmare of Victor at the wedding. "Is it a daytime ceremony?"

"Yes. And Craig's expecting you. It'd be rude not to show," Sam said. "Especially now that you've said hi."

I was lucky to have a friend like Sam. I knew his advice was sound. I just hoped I wouldn't live to regret this moment. "Okay."

"So we're good? You're coming?"

I nodded.

Sam squeezed my shoulder. "We're going to be okay, Cher."

"I'll feel better once we get rid of the body." I looked over at the biker. He was still strapped in the passenger seat, Sam's baseball cap covering his bullet wound and my girly sunglasses on his face.

On a long list of pressing problems, the corpse was the most urgent. I showed Sam my Wal-Mart purchases, even the brown hair dye, and filled him in on the bag-and-sink plan Alcide and I used to dump Bubba's kill in Jackson. After that, we took every exit off I-20 that sounded like it might lead somewhere vaguely aquatic. But each lake, river, and reservoir we encountered was packed with swimmers, sunbathers, and fishers. All of them were potential concerned citizens waiting to report a body dump.

"What ever happened to wide open country?" I asked, as we pulled away from the fifth lake clogged with civilians.

"Suburban sprawl," Sam said. "This is why I moved to Bon Temps. You've got space to breathe."

"Maybe it will get better when we pass Dallas."

It didn't. The problem in northwest Texas wasn't people. Lakes and rivers dried up, or at least ones right off the interstate. Dumping a body in a drinking water reservoir was too low for us to consider, even for how desperate we had gotten.

As the day wore on, Sam and I brainstormed alternate plans to hide the corpse. Sam thought we could leave him in a dumpster, but I wasn't comfortable with it. Sam and I hadn't been careful with fingerprints and I could only imagine what other evidence we'd left on the corpse. I would only have considered a dumpster dump in Dallas, where the biker's corpse might have gotten lost in the shuffle of other murders, but when we'd breezed by the city, we'd be set on the dump-in-a-lake game plan. On the bright side, as we got father from Dallas, the cars began to drop away and with them, prying eyes. Soon enough, we were the only truck on the road.

By the time it got on five PM, I was still wracking my brain for an alternate plan. The sky glowed pre-dusk pink and the sun had already beginning to dip under the horizon. At this point, it made sense to wait for Eric. I hated asking him to dump another body for me, but at this late hour, I would be stupid not to. Right now, the easiest fix was best, because it wasn't just about me. If the body was found, it would affect Sam too.

Now that dusk was almost here, I could feel Eric more strongly, like a warm buzz in the back of my head. I thought about what I might say to him, but gave up soon after starting. Eric was impossible to plan for. Being with him was a dusk-to-dawn marathon and I was already worn out. I was mad at him for so many reasons I couldn't keep them all straight. At this point, it almost didn't matter. I wanted to see him anyway. I was just happy he wasn't dead.

I rolled down the driver's window and leaned out. The wind blew through my hair and I imagined it was his fingers. It had been four days since we'd had sex. For us, that was a long time. Too long. Eric would definitely try something once he woke up. I had to be strong and not let it happen because 1) I was still mad 2) Sam and 3) the only surfaces were the road and the truck. But, even so, I missed him. A lot.

Sam brought me back to reality by clambering on my knees and sticking his wet nose out the open window. I laughed and batted him away. "Down boy."

Earlier in the afternoon, Sam shifted into a collie to throw wandering eyes off our trail. I'd been driving ever since. I was amazed—and totally thankful—that no one had pulled us over. As the day wore on and we got further from the I-20 corridor, we stopped hearing radio advisories about our truck. Maybe the police were concentrating their search in the Dallas suburbs. Maybe my fake call to the tip line put them off our trail. Texas was also a big state with a lot of pickup trucks. That could have worked in our favor. Whatever the reason, the result was nothing short of a miracle.

"Who's a lucky boy?" I scratched Sam behind the ears. I don't know what made me use puppy talk around Sam in dog form. There was just something in those big collie eyes that brought out the soppy mommy in me. "Who's lucky?" Sam wagged his tail, thumping it on the seat. "Good boy, that's right. We're lucky."

Of course, at that exact moment, I heard the sirens. The cruiser's red and white lights flashed bright against the darkening sky. Fudge. "I jinxed us."

Sam whined and nudged his nose under my hand, as if to reassure me. "Thanks." I patted him on the head and pulled into the shoulder, cop following close behind. As I shut off the car, Sam took one for the team and vaulted into the corpse's lap. He curled up like he'd been sleeping there. I don't know if having a dog on the body made it look more alive, but it certainly couldn't hurt.

"Thanks, but you know don't have to do that."

Sam stood his ground.

The cop rapped on my car door with the end of his flashlight. I steeled myself. There was no way around this. "What can I do for you, officer?"

His thoughts flooded my head. He'd heard the alert for our truck on the radio. He'd noticed our Louisiana plates. "License and registration please." We were screwed.

I fumbled around for my purse. "Was I speeding?"

"Nope." He took my license out of my hand. "Who's the fella?"

For a second I thought he was talking about Sam, but then I realized he meant the biker. I thought quick. "This is my boyfriend."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's just having a nap." The cop thought I was lying. Well, I was. He opened his mouth to call me out, but I beat him to it. "Okay, he's out cold, but Bob never drinks like this, I swear. I'm taking him home to wash up." Why did I call the biker Bob? I don't know. It was the first name I thought of.

"I'll be wanting to talk to him, ma'am." The cop wasn't falling for it. He tried to shine his flashlight on the body, but Sam barked and leapt into the beam, blocking his view. "Please control your animal."

I put my arms around Sam's neck and dragged him away from the body. With the cop leaning over me, I didn't know what else to do. "Come sit with me, Dean. Bob's not feeling well." With Sam out of the way, the cop shone his flashlight on the body. Between the darkness outside and the electric glare of the flashlight, the biker looked corpse-white.

"Ma'am, is this a dead body?"

"No, sir."

"You better step out of the car." He was going to arrest me. I'd seen enough cop shows, and besides, I could hear it in his thoughts. Maybe I could hit him with a tire iron or something and try to knock him out. Did Sam even have a tire iron? Or maybe if Sam shifted back it would confuse the cop enough I could find something to hit him with. I looked at Sam and tried to will my plan to him, but he just whined. "I said step out of the car," the cop repeated.

Then I heard a rush of air and a strangled yell. The cop wasn't standing in front of my window anymore. I unhooked my seatbelt, opened the door, and peeped out.

Eric had pinned the cop up against Sam's truck. He held him by the throat. The cop's toes dangled inches from the road and Eric's fangs were out. "Don't bite him." I got out, slamming the door behind me.

Eric glared at me, but retracted his fangs with a click. "Anything else?" He was testy tonight. The bat trunk must not have been a comfortable resting place.

"No. You can carry on." Because Eric was still glowering, I added, "Thank for your help."

"You're welcome." There was a touch of sarcasm in Eric's voice, and I could feel his annoyance in the bond, but my thanks was enough to thaw the waters. He smiled at me and I felt myself smile back at him. I felt warm from the tip of my ponytail down to my toes. I must have looked pretty good to him too, because his fangs popped back out. Yum.

"You're in so much trouble," I said. I couldn't have been all that threatening because I wasn't able to wipe the grin off my face.

"Good," Eric said. "Come over here. I've missed you."

"Who are you people?" the cop said, staring from Eric to me. Eric still had him pinned to the car. "Let me go. You're both under arrest." I had to admire the cop's commitment, if not his grip on reality.

"One second," Eric said to me. He titled the cop's chin up and forced him to meet his stare. After a few seconds, the cop got googley-eyed, so I figured there was some glamour going on. "Get in your car and drive," Eric said. "You never saw us."

"Can you send him to the state line?" Eric raised an eyebrow at me, so I explained. "The cops are after Sam and me. Tell him to radio that he saw our truck going to Oklahoma. I want them off the scent."

I could feel a kind of smug happiness rolling over the bond, but Eric was smart enough not to make a comment. I had no idea why Eric was happy the police wanted me. Maybe he just liked to see me needing him. Eric turned back to the cop. "What is the nearest river?" He ignored my Oklahoma suggestion, of course. I had thought it was pretty good.

"No rivers. Lake Arrowhead is thirty miles north," the policeman said.

"You saw this truck drive into that lake. I want you to radio your police force and have them dredge it. Call off the highway alert." Eric dropped the cop. He slumped against the truck, gasping and rubbing his neck. "Now get out of here."

As we watched the policeman get into his cruiser and drive away, Eric put his arm around my shoulders. I relaxed into him. He was so tall and I just came up to his chest. Eric wasn't warm or safe, but having his arm around me made me feel both.

Per usual, Eric ruined the moment. "Why are you wanted by the police?"

His question brought me back to reality. "Why are you wanted by the police? I saw the DEA raid Fangtasia on live TV."

"It's a long story."

"I never thought it wasn't." When Eric didn't volunteer anything, I tried again. "Are you dealing drugs?"

"What do you think?"

I shrugged off Eric's arm. "I never thought you were. But the fact you won't answer makes me concerned."

"I'm not dealing drugs," Eric said. "I'm offended you had to ask."

Sam leapt out of the truck before I could reply. He gave a few yips and ran in a circle around my legs. Eric ignored him. He stared at the open door and sniffed. "Why do you have a dead body in your truck?"

"You mean a dead body other than you?"

Eric glared. I glared. Sam, incapable of glaring in his dog form, scampered over to Eric and sat at his feet.

Eric smirked at me. "He's a beautiful dog."

I folded my arms. "Don't be mean. He understands every word you're saying."

Eric ignored me and bent down to scratch Sam behind the ears. "Have you been a good boy?" Eric's fangs were still out, which made the question seem a lot more threatening than it would have been otherwise.

Sam wagged his tail. He leapt up, put his front paws on Eric's chest, and sniffed him. Eric laughed, which was not the reaction I'd been expecting. They were obviously feeling each other out, but they were speaking a language I didn't understand. Whether it was a supe thing, or a guy thing, I didn't know. Honestly, it weirded me out. I was used to them ignoring each other. "Sam, your pants are in the cab if you want to change back and talk to us like a normal person."

Sam looked at both of us, made a truly pathetic whining noise, and ran off into the night. He was giving us a chance to talk. Great. Eric smirked. "Smart puppy."

I gave Eric my best stink-eye and folded my arms. "I don't know if you're aware, but while you've been snoozing the sky's been falling."

"You are referring to that body in your truck?"

"Among other things." I narrowed my eyes, waiting for Eric to volunteer information. When it didn't happen, I sighed. If this talk was going to take as long as I thought it would, I wanted to be comfortable. I took his hand. It was cool in mine. "Come on. I need to sit down."

I led Eric to the back of the pickup. He climbed inside and lifted me up next to him. He kept his hand on my waist as we walked to the back of the truck. I tried to ignore how good it felt and failed with flying colors. "How did you get out of here?" I asked, as we sat down on top of the bat trunk.

Eric picked something off the truck bed. It was a broken padlock. "When I woke up, I felt your fear. It was the police officer?"

"It was a lot of things. I've been scared all day. I thought you were dead, until we opened the trunk by mistake and saw you." I couldn't believe that had only been a few hours ago. It felt like years. "Eric, you have a lot of explaining to do—why you followed us, how you followed us—but before we get into all that, I'm glad you followed us. At least, I'm glad you're alive."

Eric put his arm around me and I leaned into his shoulder. My heart beat a little faster. This wasn't the right time for sexy business, but gosh did I want it to be. I knew Eric was on my wavelength, because he drew me closer. I draped my legs over his. It had been four days since we'd last had sex, if you didn't count Eric' game of chicken in my bedroom last night. I was prepared to start fresh—although not in Sam's truck—but before I let him back into my good graces, and my pants, I had to clear up some of our issues. "Promise me you won't play any more games. I don't want you starting things you don't finish."

"I promise to finish last night," Eric said. His careful phrasing set off my alarm bells.

"That isn't what I asked."

He kissed the side of my neck. "I won't make a blanket promise I may have to break. You want me to apologize for last night? I'm sorry I made you upset."

I read between the lines. "But you're not sorry for your behavior?"

"Considering the information I had at the time, it was the best choice I could have made," he said. "It wasn't a game, Sookie. If it makes you feel better, I would have rather had sex with you."

"That's not the point." I stood up, but he yanked me back down. "I don't like you using sex to manipulate me."

"It didn't work," Eric said, kissing the side of my neck.

"Now you're stroking my ego."

"Is it working?"

"You're such a headache," I said, as he kissed me again.

Four days without sex was ninety-six hours. Ninety-six hours were a lot of minutes. But as Eric slid his hand under the waistband of my jeans, it was like no time had passed at all. "I want you," he said.

I kissed the side of his neck. I wanted him too, but this wasn't the time. "Bottle it up and save it."

By now I was straddling him. I didn't know how that happened. I was never fully in control of my body around Eric and it always felt wonderful. "You should have worn a skirt."

"I'm sorry I didn't dress with your easy access in mind." My voice sounded more breathy than tart, which hadn't been at all what I'd intended.

He laughed, reminding me of why I liked him so much in the first place. Eric could be a real jerk, but he appreciated a joke or jab, even at his own expense. "I'll let it slide. I'll have you before the end of tonight." Sitting on his lap, I could tell how ready he was.

"I'll try. I can't promise."

"You will do more than try." Eric's kiss was a real-toe curler. I felt like those four days apart had never passed and we were right back in bed together. When we broke, I was breathing heavy. I bet Eric would have been too, if he had been alive. "Now you can bottle and save it," he said.

I didn't want to stop kissing him, but we had a lot to figure out. I didn't know how much longer Sam would give us and the corpse wasn't getting any fresher. I disentangled myself as far as Eric would let me, which left me sitting on his lap as opposed to straddling him outright. Eric kept a few fingers threaded through my belt loops. "Thank you for getting rid of the cop. I don't know what Sam and I would have done."

"You would have thought of something."

"Maybe." Regardless, Eric had come at the right time. "You asked about the man in my truck. He tried to kill me."

"You took care of him?"

"I shot him."

"That's my girl."

Eric was proud when I killed people. He'd been over the moon with Bruno. It made me uncomfortable. "I don't know if it is your girl," I said, picking my words carefully. I didn't want to offend him, but I was going to be honest. "Eric, I can't keep on like this. I've got to finish this mess here, but once it's done, I don't know if I can be involved in supernatural business and stay sane."

Eric was quiet. I was nervous about his reaction because our breakup was implicit in what I'd just said. I didn't want to cut ties with Eric, god did I ever love him and love sex with him, but my life around him might have become too much for me to handle. One day my luck would run out and I would end up dead.

"You're fantasizing if you think the supes will let you go," Eric finally said. "I'm not talking about me. Everyone knows who you are and you're too valuable for them to let you walk away."

He was right. "I know."

"Even if you were able to cut ties, it wouldn't just be me you'd lose. Would you talk to Bill, Pam? The weres in Shreveport? Your fairy family? Even your friend the witch is a question." He paused. "Why do you want to run away from your life? You hide from problems, Sookie. Maybe yours are worst than most, but this is a big flaw."

I resented him talking to me like he knew best, even though I knew he couldn't help himself, didn't mean it unkindly, and was maybe a little bit right. "Eric, my life is out of control."

"So control it." Eric said. "Lover, that's the only way to cope. It's never going to let up."

If only it were that easy. "I'd like things to let up once in a while." Especially after a day like today.

"If you think that's possible, you're delusional." Eric shrugged. "But even if this fantasy- where you don't have problems because you don't see supes- could exist and you were living it, I don't think you wouldn't be happy. You would get bored."

Eric was blunt to a fault. It was one of my favorite things about him, but tonight, every word out of his mouth made me angrier. He wasn't listening to me. "I'm not delusional and I don't appreciate you using that word with me."

"Prove to me I'm wrong," Eric said.

I sighed. "I know I will always have problems, I'm not stupid-"

"Maybe I was exaggerating to make a point."

"Will you please let me talk?" He shut his mouth, but I could feel annoyance oozing off of him. "I see it as a question of degrees. I know I can't cut supes out of my life, but maybe I need to scale back." I was really angry and I could feel it thrum through the bond. Part of me hoped my anger would egg on Eric because I wanted to yell at him after the way he'd been talking to me. "Last month, we killed three people in my front yard. I shot a man today. It was self-defense and I don't regret it, but I can't get away from it. I need to make changes."

"So your solution is to run?" Eric said, fangs out. Now he was angry. This is what I'd been waiting for. "Try to leave and see how far you get."

"Don't threaten me."

"I am not threatening you. I am telling you the truth." Eric lowered his voice. I could feel his frustration seep into the bond. "You have no idea how much my name protects you. I have been stupid protecting you. Please be realistic."

"I am realistic," I said. "And I appreciate what you've done, I really do. But I can't keep going down this road."

"Then figure out a way to be happy that isn't so extreme, because what you're suggesting would be a mistake. Our personal connection aside." Eric's jaw tightened and I could feel something in the bond- hurt, anger, I wasn't sure. Eric was quiet for a second. "I hate to see you hating yourself. At least give yourself credit that you know the difference between a good kill and a bad one. You are not Alexi."

"If the only way I can survive is by killing," I trailed off. I didn't want to say 'I would rather be dead' because it was overdramatic and frankly, I had a lot to live for, Eric at the top of the list. "If the only way I can survive is by compromising what I believe—Eric, I just don't know."

"There is never an 'only' way."

And there was never anything Eric wouldn't pick to death. "Well, maybe I was exaggerating to make a point."

Eric frowned. "Sookie, when you found me after Alexi almost killed us, you forced me to go after him. I will always appreciate that. Take your own advice. Do something. You drive yourself crazy with thinking. The way I see it, you will always have to protect yourself and negotiate the demand for your talent. Those are the givens. Now, find a way."

Eric made a solution sound so corporate. For me, it was more complicated than that. I wasn't sure what was right or wrong anymore. But we weren't going to resolve this tonight and in one respect, Eric was right. I would feel better doing something. I needed a plan and my only way to do that was to have all the information. The events of the day came flooding back to me. Before I could even think about my long-term, Eric and I needed to dig ourselves out of this sinkhole.

"Eric, what's going on? With Pam, Victor, Fangtasia? I know you know more about this than I do."

"What do you want to know?"

What did I want to know? "What don't I want to know?"

"Start somewhere."

"Is Pam finally dead?"

"No."

"Who burned Fangtasia?"

"I did."

_**Thanks for reading and reviewing. Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO.**_


	7. Exit Strategy

After Eric told me everything, we made a to-do list.

We had personal to-dos: Eric wanted to check in with Pam. I wanted to have dinner. Eric wanted to have me for dinner. I told him he was dreaming if he thought I'd let him bite me with Sam around. He told me I often made his dreams come true. I told him not this time, buddy, and he laughed.

We also had unavoidable to-dos: we had to deal with Victor, we had learn the charges against Eric, we had to disprove the charges against Eric, we had to hide Sam's truck, we had to dump the body. Sam had to get to his brother's wedding. I had to get to the wedding, maybe, depending on the Victor situation. Eric had to find someone trustworthy to file Fangtasia's insurance claim, who wasn't presumed dead (him, Pam) or on the run (me). I thought about suggesting Jason, but decided I'd only mention it if Eric couldn't find anyone else. Filing an insurance claim might seem safe, but you never knew with vampires.

When Sam came back, walking on two legs and naked as the day he was born, we told him it was time to hide the body. As far as I was concerned, getting rid of the corpse was currently the most important item on our to-dos. If anyone found us with the biker, we'd be toast.

I told Eric my dump-the-body-in-a-lake plan while Sam put on his pants. Eric didn't interject and correct. It was weird. When I finished, he was quiet for a good ten seconds, which was weirder. "You are very resourceful, lover," he finally said.

I could tell that he didn't want to hurt my feelings. "What's wrong with it? Spit it out."

Eric didn't need to be told twice. "Bodies float, evidence sticks, and I've told the police to dredge the local lake. Why use a shower curtain?"

I didn't want to bring up Alcide. What Eric didn't remember couldn't annoy him. "It doesn't matter."

"What you should do is burn him," Eric said, as Sam came around the side of his truck, buttoning up his shirt.

"Burn him how?" Sam asked.

Eric filled us in and we divided the labor. We drove Sam's truck into the desert, shut off the headlights, and got to work. Since Eric could see best in the dark, he went to gather brush for kindling, leaving Sam and me to find a jug and a hose.

Sam and I thought we were going to have to fashion a makeshift bag out of the now-neglected shower curtain but then Sam found a gallon jug of water he'd stashed under the driver's seat. We had more trouble with the hose. Sam and I checked behind the seats, in the glove compartment, even under the hood. Finally, I figured out that the insulation on the lip of the bat trunk was a hollow plastic tube stapled flat. Sam paused in the middle of emptying out his water jug to lend me his Leatherman. I pried out the staples one at a time.

I freed about a foot and a half of the insulation and snipped it loose on both ends. By then Sam had emptied the water jug.

"I want to do it," I said at the same time as Sam's "Hand over the hose."

We laughed. "I've got this." Sam said.

I held out my hand for the jug. "Ladies first." I wasn't trying to be difficult, but I wouldn't take no on this one. I had killed the biker and I wanted to be involved in every step of disposing of him so I'd remember the consequences. I would not let Eric or Sam take care of my mess for me.

Sam gave me the jug. He must have been able to tell I was serious. "Have you done this before?" he asked as I flipped open the gas tank and unscrewed the cap.

"Nope." I threaded the hose into the tank, wiggling it around until I heard sloshing. "You?"

"Drained my sister's kiddie pool," Sam said. "You'll want to angle the hose up."

I let Sam position my hands. As I leaned towards the end of the hose, he nodded, so I put my mouth on the end and started to suck. I felt silly, bent double, sucking on a tube. How did I know it was working? I didn't feel anything until I did and I had a mouth full of gasoline. I nearly dropped the hose in the shock of it.

"Take the hose out of your mouth, cap with your finger," Sam said.

I followed his instructions. As soon as the hose was out of my mouth, I spat. "Sorry."

"Tastes that good, hm?" Sam asked as he helped me angle the hose into the jug.

I brushed my teeth dry. It was no fun. The last of our water had been in the jug now holding the gas. When Eric came back from the desert, he found me doubled-over, swigging mouthwash and spitting. Even though I was bent over, I could feel him standing still, watching me. He didn't say anything. I thought it was weird and I was going to say something, but by the time I'd straightened up, I heard him on the other side of the truck, talking to Sam in hushed tones.

Sam came over to me. "We're going to move the corpse, Sookie. You follow when you're ready."

I straightened up. I wasn't going to let them do it without me. "I'm ready."

So that's how I siphoned gas to burn the corpse of the guy I killed. In the end, we took a quarter of what was left in the tank so we could drive as far as the next station.

I carried the gasoline, Eric and Sam handled the body, and we started into the desert. Eric grabbed the biker's shoulders and Sam had his feet. They were both strong enough to carry the corpse by themselves, but there was something about them doing it together that made me feel better about us having to do it at all. I guess it made me feel less alone.

After a few minutes, we reached Eric's kindling and the boys set the body down. I felt like I should say some words, but I couldn't in good faith eulogize the biker since our only interaction had been him trying to kill me. At the same time, it felt wrong to send him off without any acknowledgement. "Good luck, wherever you are going," I said, figuring it was the best I could do. I uncapped the gas.

"Wait," Eric said. "Have you searched his wallet?"

Sam and I exchanged a glance. He looked as horrified as I felt. "No," I said, hoping Eric would get the hint. Instead, Eric began to rummage through the biker's pockets.

Before I could tell Eric to stop, he started scolding me. "You had him in your truck for hours and you didn't check his identification?" He sounded exasperated, but I felt something tender trickling through the bond. "What is the first rule of conflict? Know your enemy." Eric looked at Sam. "Did they not teach you that in the army?"

Sam looked surprised. "How did you know I was in the army?"

Eric smirked and acted like he hadn't heard Sam. He smiled wider as he produced the wallet from the back pocket of the biker's jeans. He pulled out the cash first, a couple twenties, and offered it to me.

I felt gross just looking at the money. "No thanks."

Eric shrugged, pocketed the cash, and flipped to the identification. "Do you want to know his name?"

His question surprised me. I knew the biker had a name. Every person had a name. But I felt better to have killed 'a biker' than a Bob or a Barry or whatever his name really was.

"He has a Nevada license," Eric continued. "I don't recognize him. I don't think his name is important, but I thought you might want to know."

Now that Eric had asked me outright, there was no way I could say no. The selfish part of me didn't want to know. A name made him a person. "Yeah, please tell me."

So Eric told me his name, we put the wallet back, and set him on fire. Then the three of us sat down in a row, me in the middle of course, and Eric explained to Sam why he'd been hiding in the trunk, which of course related to why he burned down Fangtasia and why he was wanted by the DEA.

The short version was that Eric and Pam burned Fangtasia and faked their deaths to avoid arrest.

The longer story took a number of detours. Luckily for Eric, one of Pam's regular flings was on Shreveport's SWAT team. Pam met her at a ladies-only gym—why Pam was using a gym and why Eric thought this was a relevant detail escaped me, but there it is. When the SWAT team was told about the raid on Fangtasia late last night, Miss Cop gabbed to Pam, who called Eric, who told Pam to reach for the gasoline. Eric was quick to tell us that he wasn't afraid of being arrested. He went for the whole burn-the-bar plan because "I thought it would be easier if Victor Madden believed I was dead."

Eric got Pam's call right after he left my place. After he hung up, Eric had done some quick thinking and, like me, connected the impending raid to Victor. He assumed Victor might target me, though he'd be better off regrouping outside Felipe's territory, and figured he could kill several birds with one stone.

"I decided to spend the day in your trunk," Eric told Sam. "When I got to your house, I was disappointed you had a pickup, not a car, but I found a solution."

"Inventive," Sam said. By the look on his face, I didn't think he had forgiven Eric, but if the bat trunk was the sorest subject between the two of them, I couldn't complain.

"The bats are behind your shed," Eric said. Then, wonder of wonders, he added, "Sorry."

"How did you lock yourself in?" I'd assumed Pam had done it, but she'd been busy torching Fangtasia.

"I glamored the man who mops the floors."

"Terry Bellefleur," I said. Sometimes Terry stayed late or came in early to clean Merlotte's.

Sam grimaced. "I wish you hadn't done that. Terry's got enough trouble in his head already."

Eric gave Sam a sharp look. He didn't do well with people telling him he was wrong. "You are enjoying an ally?" he asked me. After that, it was a couple minutes of sniping before we got ourselves under control and the exposition session got back on track.

Just after buying Fangtasia, Eric and Pam developed a contingency plan in the event they needed to fake their deaths and disappear. You know—you mark fire evacuation routes, you buy flood insurance, you plot how to fake your death. For them, it was business as usual.

When vampires met their final deaths, they left scorch marks and ash. The ash was so degraded it was impossible to get organic residue from it, making vampire deaths notoriously hard to verify. Was it dust bunnies or Count Dracula? Police officers often didn't know. There was a bill working through Congress trying to mandate that vampires be injected with some kind of individually-cued tracking isotope. Ostensibly, it was to aid identification in the event of final death, but everyone really knew it was so the government could keep tabs on vampires. The Revelation had happened after the last Census, so no one really knew how many vampires there were. The American Vampire League was dead set against the bill. So were left-wingers, who gabbed about privacy. Scientists were divided. Some thought the isotope would dissolve, some thought it would work, but no one knew for sure because no vampires had volunteered for clinical trials. _20-20 _had run a few exposes where everyone with an opinion screamed at each other. I thought it was a lot of hullaballoo over nothing, because if the bill passed, it would be impossible to enforce. No vampire would willingly get tagged and humans would have a difficult, if not impossible, time forcing a vampire to do something against his or her will.

What this all amounted to was there was very little difference between a dead vampire and an ordinary pile of ash. All Pam had to do was put a few charcoal briquettes in two of Fangtasia's basement coffins. Faking her death was as easy as firing up a grill. To aid identification, she dropped her wallet and shoes in one coffin and put Eric's passport in the other.

"Yes, vampires need passports, ever since the revelation," Eric told me when I asked. It was one of those obvious things I had never bothered to think about.

After putting everything in place, Pam sprinkled her faux crime scene with gasoline, then let the fire do its work. She was currently holed up with her SWAT team honey in the Shreveport suburbs, Eric's eyes and ears inside Area 5.

Eric, being Eric, wasn't content to let the passport be sole proof of his passing. Before snoozing the day away in Sam's trunk, he conscripted Bill Compton, my ex-boyfriend and current neighbor, to play the part of Judas. "Bill is currently in New Orleans telling Victor he set me on fire," Eric said. "I would have preferred to send Pam but Victor would have never believed her. "

I thought Bill was a much better choice than Pam. Anyone who knew about Bill and Eric's recent history—and Victor certainly did—would be able to extrapolate a motive for Bill turning against Eric. With his database, Bill was one of the Area's top earners, so Victor would want to believe Bill was loyal to him. Bill's feelings for Eric were conflicted enough, I didn't think he'd have to pretend very hard to sell whatever story Eric had fed him. And even though I'd forgiven Bill for his betrayal, I would never forget how good of a liar he was.

"Convenient that Bill decided to kill you the night you were going to be arrested," Sam said.

Eric shrugged. He obviously didn't have a lot of concern for Bill's wellbeing. "If I were him, I'd work that into the story. I left the details up to Bill. I don't like to micromanage." Oh sure he didn't. "But it wouldn't be hard to incorporate. For instance, if I am Bill, I tell Victor I hear about the raid from Heidi or Sandy Sechrest—"

"Or the secretary in the district attorney's office who I glamour every week to stay on top of Shreveport news," I suggested.

Eric beamed at me. "Yes. Good. Once he's found out, what is Bill's reason for burning Fangtasia? Perhaps to save Sookie from the humiliation of a public trial. Or to protect his database from falling into the government's hands. Or he suspects Victor is behind the raid and burns Fangtasia as a good faith gesture. Personally, I would go with the last one to feed Victor's ego."

Sam looked dazed. Eric was pretty overwhelming when you weren't used to him. "Are you sure this plan will work?"

"This isn't a plan, it is an exit strategy," Eric said.

Sam stared at him and nodded. He looked kind of numb. "Good. Okay." Sam turned to me. "We still going to Wright tonight?"

Eric spoke for me. "What is in Wright?"

"The wedding," I said. "And yeah, as soon as the fire burns down."

"I better call Craig and let him know we'll be late." Sam stood up. He needed some space.

As Sam walked into the night, I heard him greet Craig with a "Calm down."

"Family troubles?" Eric asked.

"I don't know a lot about it," I said, which was true. I also didn't think it was my place to share Sam's personal problems.

Eric let it go, whether out of tact, or not caring, I wasn't sure. On second thought, it couldn't have been tact, because Eric took the opportunity to comment on Sam's attitude. "He is anxious."

"He's tired," I said. "We've been driving all day." I didn't want to offend Eric by saying that his exuberance for arson and machinations wore out Sam.

"He has been a dog all day," Eric said. "That form is much smaller. He must expend less energy."

Since Eric wasn't taking the conversation anywhere useful, I decided to respond with a non sequitur of my own. "Why does Pam go to the gym?"

"She co-owns it."

"With you?"

"With Clancy. Now, maybe with me. It has been so hectic we have yet to divide his assets."

I wasn't Clancy's biggest fan, but dividing assets sounded like a cold way to mark his passing. I guess vampires weren't big on memorial services. "Is that how it usually works?"

"If Clancy had children his wealth would go to them," Eric said. "Otherwise, it reverts back to the Area. So Area 5 co-owns a share in the gym. Pam could buy it out if she wanted, or bring in another investor. Are you interested?"

"No thanks. I wouldn't know the first thing about running a gym." If Pam owned a store that sold khakis and cable-knit sweaters, it would make sense to me. But I'd never seen Pam show any interest in athletics, other than sex. "I don't get the gym. Does Pam work out? Does working out even do anything for vampires?"

Eric smirked. "You are not this naïve. It's a ladies gym."

Ew. "And that works?"

He shrugged. "Pam also sponsors a ladies softball team."

"Get out." I had played softball all through high school.

Eric's smirk got wider. "This is not your kind of team, lover."

"That's between me and Pam." Sports were sports. I may not play for the same team as the girls Pam sponsored, but I could play on their team, athletically speaking.

Eric laughed. "I would like to see you hit a ball with a stick."

"I was the pitcher. I had a good arm."

"Yes. You still do." Mr. Corny kissed my shoulder and I was sort of surprised by his sweetness. The flickering firelight almost felt romantic until I remembered it came from a burning corpse.

Eric was staring at the fire too. "Was it hard to burn Fangtasia?" I asked. Eric's club was his kingdom. Eric might claim he didn't like to micromanage, but I knew he oversaw every aspect of its operation from shipments to staffing. He even did payroll himself. He would only delegate to Pam, and in times of dire need, Bruce.

"I have insurance," Eric said. "I consider this a step towards renovation." His tone betrayed none of the sadness I felt in the bond.

"What are your plans for the new space?"

"Bigger, better." Eric shrugged. "I would like to mount Victor Madden's head over the bar."

"The Health Department will love that."

"Perhaps over my desk then."

I laughed. Some people hung diplomas in their office. Eric was not some people. "So you're rebuilding Fangtasia. How do you plan to come back from the dead?"

"From the finally dead?" he corrected me. "I haven't figured that out yet. I will blame everything I can on Victor. Why? Do you have an idea?"

"Not really," I said. "Blaming on Victor is good. I'll probably think of something once we see how this turns out."

"I am not worried about a story," Eric said. "Vampires can know the truth and humans are too frightened of us to question what we tell them. You excepted."

We were silent for a second or two, both staring into the fire. I leaned closer to Eric. He ran his fingers through my hair. It felt good. Intellectually, I knew we were in a totally unsafe situation, but I felt safer than I had all day. "I'm glad you're alive," I said. "I only thought you might be dead for a short while, but it was terrible."

"I am here," he said and kissed the top of my head. I sighed and buried my face in his chest. Eric kept looking at the fire. "Seeing this is strange for me," he volunteered, surprising me. Eric rarely talked about what he was feeling. "I have burned corpses, but I never stay to watch. When I was human we would burn our dead."

"All of them?" I'd watched a History Channel special on the Vikings with Jason a few weeks ago, but I didn't know much about them. I'd rather learn from Eric than the TV.

"Just men," he said. "Fighters, leaders. It will never happen to me."

How could it? When Eric finally died, all that would be left was ash. It would be like he had never existed. I could understand why that would tear him up. If Eric's final death happened in my lifetime, it would tear me up. Gran's funeral had meant a lot to me as did having a spot where I could visit her when I missed her. Eric was such an important presence in my life, I couldn't imagine what it would be like if he suddenly wasn't there and I didn't have any way to say goodbye.

As I looked at the biker, an idea occurred to me. "This is going to be really morbid, Eric."

"Yes?" Of course that didn't faze him.

"If something were to happen to you, you'd leave a lot behind—your clothes, your papers, maybe your real wallet. I could burn something, if you like."

Eric stared at me, blank for a second or two. I couldn't feel anything in the bond. "I would like that," he said finally.

"Do you have a preference of what—"

"I would like you to choose."

"Okay." Since we were on the topic, "If its just me, I would like to be buried next to my Gran. " Eric's eyes snapped to me. I felt anger in the bond. He didn't like me talking about my death, but tough cookies. It was going to happen sooner or later, and hanging out around Eric, chances were it would be sooner.

"Okay," Eric said. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn't.

I appreciated that he let me have the last word, for once. "Thank you." I kissed him.

"What is that taste?" he asked when we broke apart.

"Gasoline."

A shadow on the other side of the flame resolved itself into Sam. His phone was still at his ear and he looked shell-shocked. "Craig and Deidra are eloping." Sam lowered the phone. "They asked Sookie and me to come."

"Isn't the point of eloping no one comes?" Eric wanted me to himself.

Sam and I overlapped. "He's Craig's brother—"

"I'm best man. She's my plus one. And Craig wants to piss off my Mom."

"How's your Mom taking it?" I asked Sam.

Sam looked at his phone. "She's probably cooking the rehearsal dinner. I've got to call her."

I wanted to give Craig the benefit of the doubt, but who decided to elope two days before their wedding with alerting their family? "Craig should call her."

Sam was already punching buttons, maybe texting Craig, maybe getting his Mom's number ready. "She's going to have a fit. This won't be over for years, but Craig won't listen. I told him to go back."

"Go? Where's he going?" When Sam said eloping I thought he meant the county seat or city hall.

"I told you," Sam said.

"No, you didn't." I looked over at Eric for confirmation, but he was zoning out staring at the fire. Family stuff bored him.

"Yes, I did." With Craig off the line, Sam wanted someone to be frustrated out.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself it wasn't personal. "Could you tell me again?"

"They're going to Vegas," Sam said. "It's costing Craig a fortune."

_**Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**_


	8. Detour

"They're going to Vegas," Sam said. "It's costing Craig a fortune. He wants to pay for our hotel. He booked four nights."

"You do what you want," Eric said, "but Sookie's not going."

"That's up to Sookie," Sam said. Eric gave Sam a sour look. Sam ignored him and knelt down next to me. "What do you think?"

"Thank you for asking." I shot Eric the stink eye. He wasn't my keeper. "I think Vegas is a terrible idea. We'd mess up the wedding and maybe get killed." Eric nodded agreement. It made me want to kick him. I was still sore over his declaration. _Sookie's not going. _Call me pigheaded, but when he talked like that, it made me want to find all the reasons I should go. "On the other hand, Victor wouldn't expect it."

"Yes." Eric smiled. I knew his expression. My stupid danger-loving half got excited and my smart side screamed scram. He had a plan. He grinned wider. "Victor would never expect us."

I'd been stating the facts. Victor wouldn't expect us in Vegas because it we'd be stupid to go. "Why the smiles? You want to go to Vegas now?" I was half-afraid to hear his answer.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Eric's looked at Sam. I didn't have to dip into the bond to know Eric didn't feel comfortable talking vampire politics in front of him. Eric would spill the beans on his own business—he'd told Sam how he came to end up in his trunk—but vampires were hyper-secretive when it came to their hierarchy. Most humans didn't know vampires governed themselves. Pam and Bill clammed up on the subject. Eric was fairly open with me, but it was because I'd earned his trust. I'd never seen him talk about it freely. "You can trust Sam with anything you'd tell me."

"No need." Sam stood up. I didn't need to read his thoughts to tell he didn't want to know. "I've got to call my Mom. I'll be a couple minutes. You two can work this out."

"Wait a second." I understood Sam's reluctance. "If I were you, I wouldn't want to get messed up in this either." The only way out of vampire business was in a body bag. "But it concerns you too. If Eric goes to Vegas, he makes us all targets. Even Craig." If Eric provoked Victor or Felipe, they'd come after me, which could lead them to Sam's family. Craig's safety was never going to be one of Eric's priorities, but that only more important I made it mine.

"His brother is no part of this," Eric said.

"Can you guarantee Victor will leave him alone?"

Eric didn't say anything. Sam's expression went from worried to grim. "Look, I appreciate you're in a tight spot," he said to Eric. "It's not my place to tell you what to do. The less I know about your business the better. But I can't have you putting my family in danger." He nodded at me. "I hope you do your best to keep this one out of it as well."

"I'm in too deep." It was just a fact. "I don't want Craig caught up in this. Especially on his wedding. Eric, you understand?"

"There's no reason for Victor to target your brother," Eric said. "If Sookie and I go to Las Vegas, your family will be safe."

Sam nodded. "Good."

"No, it's not good." I knew Eric meant what he said, but he wasn't infallible. "If Eric goes to Vegas, Victor will follow. He'll make the biker look as easy as an Easter parade. Anything could happen, and by anything, I mean nothing good. You, your brother, me—we're all fair game." Craig might be ex-army, but by vampire standards, he was a civilian.

"Eric?" Sam asked.

"She's right. There's always risk." Eric shrugged. "But frankly, I don't care enough about you to make your people an attractive target. Victor has no incentive."

So Eric had just said he'd let Sam rot. Great. This was my Prince Charming.

Harsh as he sounded, Eric was at least trying to be frank. Sam frowned—Eric's bluntness was hard to get used to—but then he nodded. He seemed to take the comment in the spirit it was given. "Do you think you're better positioned to handle Victor in Vegas than Shreveport?" he asked. Eric nodded. Then Sam did too. "Okay. Keep it away from my family. I won't stand in your way."

"Do you understand the risks, Sam?" Eric wasn't lying, but I didn't think he was telling Sam the whole story. Victor might not have an incentive to attack Sam's family, but he'd always struck me as more aggressive than rational.

"I do," Sam said. "I'd rather have Eric in charge in Shreveport than a creep set on killing you. And I want this mess fixed now. We can't bring it back to Bon Temps."

"Good," Eric said. "Go call your mother."

Sam and Eric exchanged a look. _I'll handle her_, Eric seemed to be saying.

"I'll be five minutes." Sam walked into the night, phone at his ear.

I laid into Eric as soon as Sam was out of the circle. "I can't believe you talking like I'm not even here." Control of the situation was slipping through my fingers. "Vegas is suicide. Felipe will kill you." When my voice echoed, I realized I had been yelling. I felt exhausted. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"You're such a woman." Eric flashed fang at me. He was angry. "I only get hurt if I do nothing."

I used one of Eric's favorite ploys. "Prove to me your plan is good."

Eric just looked at me. His face was blank. I sighed. Why did our talks always devolve to me yelling and him stonewalling?

I tried another tactic. Good cop. "I'm not letting you go to Vegas on your own. There might be humans to read and I'm good bait." He frowned. "Don't give me that look, its true." I tried to convince him in terms he'd understand. "If I'm putting myself on the line, I've got to know you have this under control."

Eric gave me an inscrutable look. I couldn't tell if he was angry or upset or what. "God, I love you," he said, surprising me. "You're so practical."

The compliment caught me by surprise. I felt embarrassed, but more than a little pleased. I thought he had been angry with me. "Thank you."

"I am lucky to have found you." He took my hand. "You'll make an amazing vampire."

That ruined the moment. I hardly ever thought of Eric as a corpse, but right then it was at the front of my mind. His hand felt very cold in mine. My instinct was to let go but I figured it would be too dramatic. "Not now. Tell me your plan."

Eric leaned back, frowning. He looked pissed. I could tell he thought I'd blown him off, which I had, but I really didn't want to talk about him turning me now. We had too much shit stewing to add another argument. I was grateful when he dropped it and did what I asked.

"I'll bring Felipe evidence of Victor's plan to steal Louisiana and Arkansas."

"Is this Victor's real plan? Or one you made up?" I couldn't keep up with Eric' wheelings and dealings.

"Why else would Victor take over my territory? He knows I'm loyal to Felipe. He's clearing out the opposition."

Eric was loyal to himself always and Felipe when it suited him. "Felipe's never going to fall for that. Hasn't Victor hung with Felipe for hundreds of years? And wouldn't Felipe have to approve Victor's attack on you?"

"Yes," Eric said. "If Victor didn't inform Felipe of his move against me, he's finally dead, without my help."

"You have to slow down, Eric." I felt like my head was spinning. "Explain this to me like I'm really slow. Because if you can't sell it to me, there's no way Felipe is going to bite."

Eric drew me into his lap. "Get comfortable," he said. I rolled my eyes. This wasn't the time. Even so, it felt nice. "Since Felipe put Victor in charge of Louisiana, he has been increasingly aggressive."

"Against Felipe?"

"Against everybody," Eric said. "Against me, against other vampires under his command. He's disobeyed direct commands from Felipe under the guise of miscommunication. That happened the night you were imprisoned by the fairies."

"Okay, I get it." I didn't want to revisit that night. "Keep going."

Eric must have picked up on my discomfort because he drew me closer. "Lover, I will keep you safe."

"I want to see him staked." Victor needed to be put down. He'd left me to rot with the fairies. He sent assassins after Pam and me. He'd framed and almost killed Eric. I wanted him dead and a big part of me wanted to do it. The anger felt really good—empowering. Like I'd had too many gin and tonics.

Eric roped his hand through my hair. "I won't rest until he's gone."

He kissed my neck. My heart sped up. Talking about killing Victor was turning me on, which weirded me out. Eric pulled me close to him. He was getting hard. "We're not done talking." I needed to change the subject before Eric turned this physical. If we had sex revved up on the Victor talk, I'd feel like a criminal. "You think Felipe distrusts Victor?"

Eric had said as much over the past months. He stopped kissing me, although he kept me planted on his lap. "Yes. Pam disagrees. If I'm right, it works in our favor. If she's right, it doesn't matter."

"Why?"

"Victor is not governing well. His incursion into Mississippi failed. Six of the vampires under his protection have died since he took power. One at your hand," Eric grinned at me. "And he needlessly involves human authorities in our dealings. When the DEA are done sniffing around Fangtasia, they won't stop investigating vampires. Victor whet their appetite."

Eric made a strong case. "So Victor's a screw up."

"He takes many risks. My story gives Felipe an excuse to remove him from power."

It sounded like a plan. But it wasn't airtight. "What if Felipe trusts Victor over you?"

"Trust has nothing to do with it," Eric said. "Victor is losing Felipe money."

"Is Area 5 turning a profit?"

Eric smiled. "Thanks to Bill and his database. His income probably saved my life last November." He pulled me into his lap. "I also have you."

I tried not to relax into him. I wanted to think this through with a cool head. He was making it very difficult, which was maybe his intention. "I don't like being thought of as an asset, Eric."

"You are much more than an asset, lover." He kissed my neck. "But having you in my column may save my life."

"So you are betting you are worth more to Felipe than Victor? How could that be true if Felipe approved Victor's attack against you?"

"Good managers never discourage initiative. " I wouldn't be surprised if Eric pulled that out of one of the small business books that lined the shelves in his office. "If Victor succeeded in killing me, I would have deserved to die." I gawked at him. Eric's practicality could be frightening. "Don't look at me like you're afraid. Listen. I am telling you how we think. If I were Felipe, I'd watch the power struggle like an audition. Whoever's left standing is the superior asset."

"I don't want you getting killed."

"I get killed if I do nothing." Eric kissed my neck again. I tried to pull away—I wasn't through talking—but he growled and nipped at my earlobe. I shivered as I felt his fangs run out. "It is a good plan, Sookie."

"Stop that."

"Make me." He opened the bond and his hunger overwhelmed me. He hadn't eaten all night. My pulse beat so strong I felt like it was leaping out of my throat. I imagined my blood pumping through him, giving him life. It would be so easy for me to make him happy.

These were not normal thoughts for me. I stared at Eric, then glared. "If you want me to come to Vegas, stop it."

At once, the unfamiliar feelings tuned down, like someone had turned the volume dial on a radio. Eric even stopped kissing my neck, but he hovered, inches away, like a mosquito. "I hate your plan. It's flimsy. Too many things could go wrong. You think it will work?"

"I don't know," he said. "If it doesn't, I will try something else. I will keep you safe."

"And I will keep you safe," I said. "I don't like this, but I won't let you get killed alone."

"You will save me?" Eric laughed. "Good." I knew he was patronizing me, but I felt so much fondness through the bond, it was hard for me to get riled up about it. Eric flipped me onto the ground. "We're done talking. Let's have sex before the shifter comes back." He dialed the lust back up. My pulse thudded in my ears. "This is what I feel every time I look at you."

I swatted him. "Stop." Normally, I'd find Eric's attention irresistible, but now it seemed like a bad attempt to change the subject. I wiggled away, trying to ignore how good he felt pressed against me. "We can't. There's not enough time."

Of course, that was the moment Sam reentered the circle of firelight. He looked at me, on the ground, and Eric leaning over me. I avoided his stare. I felt about as guilty as we looked.

"I fell." I managed to shimmy into a sitting position. I could tell Sam didn't believe me, but he was polite enough to pretend he did.

"You okay?"

"No bruises. I'm just fine." Now it was my turn to look for some way to change the subject. "We're coming to Vegas. How's Craig getting there?"

"Driving." Sam said. "I think we should do the same. Nearest airport is Hart County and that's just for puddle jumpers."

"I want to drive." Eric said. "More anonymous."

"What about the truck?" I asked. "I don't think the police have our plates but there's still an alert out." I thought we should switch vehicles, but I didn't want to suggest dumping the truck. Sam had driven it for as long as I'd known him. But if the police pulled us over again, especially while Eric was in the trunk, it would be bad.

"We can rent a car in Wichita Falls," Sam said. "We'll leave the truck with my mom. She's got a garage. Her house is west, on the way to Vegas. I told her we'd stop for a few hours. She wants to talk about Craig."

Logistics resolved, we squeezed into Sam's three-seater cab. Sam drove, Eric took the window and I was in the middle, pressed up against them like the center of a one of those fancy panini sandwiches. I'd been in worse jams, but neither of the guys seemed happy about it. Sam didn't like the way Eric kept his hand on my knee and Eric gave Sam dirty looks whenever I accidently brushed against him. After a few minutes, Sam pulled into the shoulder and turned into a collie to give us breathing room. I took the wheel.

Once we'd gotten back on the interstate, Sam jumped into Eric's lap so he could stick his head out the window. Neither of them acknowledged it, but I couldn't stop staring.

"What?" Eric asked, about the fifth time I looked over.

I nodded at Sam. "What are you two doing?"

Eric smirked. "He likes the breeze."

I'd made Sam self-conscious. He whined, leapt off Eric's lap and curled between us. He was a big dog and it was a tight squeeze. His tail flopped in my lap and his nose rested on Eric's knee.

I felt guilty. "Come on, Dean. Get back up there. I didn't mean it."

Eric scratched Sam behind the ears. "Why do you call him Dean?"

"It's his dog name." I patted Sam on the rump. "Sorry." Sam flapped his tail a few times, so I knew I was forgiven.

We drove that way until Wichita Falls. Pam texted Eric the address of a 24-hour rent-a-car. We found it without much trouble. I pulled up in a nearby alley so Sam could shift and put on his pants.

"I'll go in alone," he said, jogging up to the window of the truck as he buttoned his shirt. "The police are looking for a man and a woman and people remember vampires. Afterwards, you can follow me to Wright."

"I'll pay for the rental." Eric pulled several hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet and handed them to Sam. "Get a Lincoln. Premium model. Large trunk." Sam nodded and took off into the night.

"Let me bite you." Eric said, as soon as Sam had rounded the corner for the car rental lot. "I'm hungry. I waited out of respect for the shifter."

He said it like he expected me to be proud of him. Eric hadn't eaten all night, but really. He could have eased into it a little more. I wasn't a snack machine. "Do it quickly. Not the neck. And no sex, there's not time."

Eric unhooked my seatbelt. He pulled me onto his lap. "You want it where his mother will not see?"

"Yes." My voice sounded unfamiliar and breathy. Eric smiled. He knew he had me. He began to unbutton my blouse. He kissed my throat, then the groove between my breasts, and finally my stomach. I felt lightheaded.

My bra hooked in the front. Eric flicked it open. His fangs ran out. "You are the most beautiful."

"Less talking. There's no line at the rent-a-car this time of night." I shivered as he rubbed his thumb over my nipple. It pebbled to his touch. I wanted him so much.

Eric bit. It stung, but the feel of his mouth on me brought back everything I'd been missing for the past four days. Being close to him again felt so good. He was getting excited. He pushed me against the dashboard and unhooked my jeans. I stilled his hands. "Honey, no."

"Sookie." His mouth was all fangs. "I'm close."

"Oh hell." I was ready for him. I could feel it. He slid a finger into me. He smiled. He could feel it.

"Please, lover." He slid my jeans over my hips. "Sookie. Love. Come on."

I reached for his belt, but a honk knocked me out of the trance. A Lincoln sped by us. The driver—Sam, I was sure—raised a hand in greeting. I scrambled off of Eric, yanked up my jeans, and pulled off after him. "I want to finish this," I said to Eric as I maneuvered us onto the interstate. "But not in the truck. I'm going to take my time."

Eric smiled. He rubbed his hand over his mouth to wipe away the last of my blood. "Why don't you let me drive?"

I knew his look. He had something planned. "Why?" I said, buttoning my shirt as I kept one hand on the wheel.

I spent the rest of the hour-long drive to Wright coming up with reasons why I wouldn't give him road head. I might do a lot of things my Gran would never dream of, but even I had limits.

We got into Wright just shy of two am. "Population 190," Eric read off a sign I couldn't see.

Honestly, I couldn't see much. The town had no neon signs and the streetlights were sporadic. The houses in Wright were about as flat as the land they were built on. They made slightly darker shadows in an already black night sky. I followed Sam's taillights into a series of windy turns that felt like a neighborhood. He pulled up in front of a house with the porch light on. I parked behind him.

Sam got out of the Lincoln and walked over to the truck. I rolled down the window so we could talk to him. "This is your Mom's place?"

He nodded. "I think I better go ahead of you two. Grease the wheels. Craig invited me to rub Mom's face in it. She knows it. I don't know how she's holding up."

"You take as much time as you need," I said. "Eric and I can wait for you somewhere else."

"No, she'll be wanting to meet you," Sam said. "I don't want to stop for more than an hour, maybe two. Vegas isn't getting closer."

I reached through the window and squeezed his shoulder. "Good luck."

I watched Sam walk up the path and ring the doorbell. A woman in a housecoat with reddish-curly hair—Sam's color with Sam's cowlicks—answered. Sam pulled her into his arms. I felt a tug of something. Longing for my Gran, maybe, or just general loneliness.

Eric pulled me into his lap. "Lover," he whispered and kissed my neck. I felt the nick of his fangs. I shivered. Four days, now almost five. It was torture. I wanted him so bad. Was I actually going to do this? It was Sam's truck. We were at Sam's mom's house. This was such a bad idea. "Let them get inside first."

"No." Eric unbuttoned my jeans. "Sorry." He wasn't. Neither was I.

"You're so bad," I said as I yanked off his belt. Enough was enough.

"Yes," Eric said. "Stop talking." He kissed me. I felt his fangs rub against my bottom lip. I moaned and shut my eyes. They flickered open when Eric slipped his hand into my jeans.

Over Eric's shoulder, I saw Sam's mom break their hug. It was weird. This is why I had wanted to wait until they'd gone inside. Sam's mom asked him something. Sam gestured to the truck. She shook her head. I couldn't feel her thoughts but I saw the purpose in her step as she brushed past him and marched towards us. "Eric." I motioned towards the window.

Eric didn't say anything, but I could feel displeasure rolling through the bond.

I had time to scramble out of Eric's lap and button my jeans before Sam's mom rapped on the window. I rolled it down. My body was throbbing.

"You must be Sookie."

"Yes, ma'am." I thought about sticking my hand out the window for her to shake, but then remembered where it had just been.

"Call me Melinda," she said. "You need to come in." She looked over my shoulder at Eric. By the expression on her face, I was sure she knew what he was. "Both of you."

Without waiting for our reply, she marched back towards the house. She breezed past Sam, who followed her inside.

I got out of the car. Eric stayed put. He gave me a sour look. "Come on." He didn't move. "For me." That got him out of the truck, but he slammed the door behind him. "Thank you."

"Twenty minutes," Eric said. "I have business."

"I know." I was annoyed. Eric didn't need to remind me of the pressure we were under. We'd spent the past hours obsessing over his business. Eric was ready to put it on hold for sex, but Sam's mom was an imposition to him. I'd been excited about meeting her and now Eric was rushing me. No one had asked him to come along on this trip and he clearly didn't want to be here. I glared at Eric and saw him scowling. I realized that I couldn't separate my own annoyance from his. "Goddamn bond," I muttered.

He gave me a sharp look. "Don't start."

We were at the doorstep, so I didn't push it further. Eric wasn't going to be on his best behavior so it was up to me to make the good impression for both of us. I opened the door. It was unlocked.

"We're in the kitchen," Sam's mom called. "Come on in."

She had sheets piled on the table. She was making beds. This wasn't good. I thought Sam had only planned to stay for an hour. I shot a look at Sam, who shrugged._Sorry_, he thought at me.

Eric couldn't read minds, but he got it too. I felt him seething behind me. He looked at me, waiting for me to say something. I was furious. Why had dealing with Sam's mom fallen to me? She wasn't my mother and I wasn't the one who wanted to leave. "Melinda, you don't have to go to this trouble."

"I do," she said. "I've got plenty of extra beds. Until two hours ago the whole family was here." She sounded mad, but her thoughts felt lonely. I felt bad for her.

"It's only one night," Sam said. "No trouble." When he caught my eye, I realized we had to stay.

Melinda opened a drawer and took out tinfoil. She looked at Eric. "You can put this on the windows. I got duct tape in the basement. I'll expect that's where you'll be wanting to sleep."

"No," Eric said. Then, "Sookie, may I speak with you?" He left without waiting for my reply.

Sam's mom put the tinfoil down. "Well."

I didn't know what to do. This was going horribly. "Please excuse me," I said, then left to follow Eric.

As I walked out, I overheard Sam say, "He's always like that. Don't take it personal."

Eric waited for me on the stoop. "Are you trying to embarrass me?"

"I don't have time for you to play whatever it is you're trying to play here," he said. "I will not let Victor own this night. I need to move."

I didn't have the energy to fight. "Fine. Leave." I wanted to walk back through the door and let it slam in his face, but he grabbed my wrist before I had gone two steps. "What?" I scowled at him. "Do what you want. I'm staying. "

"Why? To punish me?"

"Because Sam's mom obviously wants company. And because I was raised to be polite. And because I said I was going to this wedding in the first place. None of this applies to you, so you can just do what you want, which is what you always do anyway."

He dropped my wrist. "You're living some kind of wedding fantasy," he said. "I'm am sorry I will never be able to marry you with a human family in the daylight. Will you leave now?"

I was so offended I didn't know what to say. "Excuse me?"

"I am angry," Eric said. "My life is in danger and you choose an old woman."

"You're unbelievable." Eric didn't like new people. He didn't want to stay in the house of an unfamiliar shifter who bossed him around. The situation with Victor was time-sensitive to say the least, but what could he achieve now? It was only hours until dawn. "Where are you going to go, Eric? We're in the middle of the desert. Are you going to fly?"

"I'll drive."

"And where are you going to hide when the sun comes up?"

"The trunk."

That set off alarm bells. "The trunk of the Lincoln? You can't park it. You'll get towed. Who's driving?"

"You. Or whoever I find."

He was unbelievable. "By find do you mean glamour?" He shrugged. So he was okay hijacking someone's life for a few days? "How could you do that? How could you even think that?"

"I need to get to Vegas. You won't take me."'

I couldn't believe he felt okay taking over someone's life like that. I had a secondary concern for his safety—how could he entrust his life to a glamoured driver? I'd heard glamoured thoughts. They sounded like white noise. I'd give a glamoured person ten minutes before they drove off the road. The safety argument would get more traction with Eric, but the moral one what he needed to understand. I stared at him. I didn't know what to do.

I chose expediency. "Give me one day. I'll take you tomorrow night."

I could feel Eric's anger running through our bond. "Okay."

"I'm going to walk in that door now. You'll come with me and apologize to Sam's mother."

He didn't say anything, but he followed. I found Sam's mom sitting in the living room alone. I could feel Sam's mind buzzing in a room just a few doors away—maybe his old bedroom or the bathroom, I didn't know. I waited for Eric to say something to Sam's mom, but of course, he didn't.

She broke the silence. "Tinfoil and sheets are in the kitchen." I remembered shifters had better hearing than normal humans. I hoped she hadn't heard our fight, but I felt too beat to be embarrassed if she had. Eric turned around and left the room, presumably to fetch his bed.

"There's sheets if you need them," she said.

"Thanks." I didn't move. I was trying to decide if I should apologize for Eric.

"Maybe I should be more direct," she said. "Are you sleeping with my boy or the vampire?"

I felt like I'd been slapped. I crossed my arms. "What makes you think I'm sleeping with either of them?" If she wasn't Sam's mother, I wouldn't have been so polite.

"Good girl." When she smiled, I felt like I'd past some kind of weird test. "You make your own bed then."

I slept on the couch.

_**Thanks for reading and reviewing! Sorry for the long delay between chapters, I was on vacation. It will be quicker from now on. Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO.**_


	9. Warm Up

I woke up with Eric standing over me. Over his shoulder, the clock on Sam's mom's TV blinked 4 am.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I was tired of fighting. "I'm sorry too."

"Come to bed." He scooped me up. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he carried me to the basement.

Eric dumped me on an old pullout couch. He had covered the foldaway mattress with Sam's mom's sheets. I took off his shirt, he helped me shimmy out of my pants and that was that. We didn't talk. It felt nice, simple, and easy.

Afterwards he buried his head in my breasts. "These are wonderful."

I laughed. "They like you too."

"And you?" He pried his face off my chest. "Do you love me?"

"I do." We fought like starved rats, but I was sure of it. "You?"

"I love you two," he told my breasts. "And I love you too." He kissed my mouth. I snaked my hands down his back—god, those muscles—to find my favorite part of him. I was about to tell him how much I loved his butt when he said, "I love you, Sookie, but I hate your wedding."

It took me a second to stop thinking about his buns and another to understand what he was talking about. "You mean Craig's wedding?"

"Your wedding. The wedding that brought us here." He said 'here' like it was the end of the earth.

"Where's this coming from? Are you jealous?" He didn't say anything. "Is it Sam?"

"No. It's your wedding."

We were talking in circles. If he whined about 'my' wedding one more time I was going to kick him. I thought we'd left this argument in Bon Temps. "It's almost dawn. I want to have sex again. If you need to yak you better do it quick."

He gestured to our rumpled sheets. "I think you're going to this wedding looking for something you can't find here."

I was annoyed. "Like what? Cake?"

Eric glared at me.

I flopped back on the bed. I didn't want to have a real conversation with him. I'd slept maybe three hours of the last twenty-four. I wanted to have sex and then go to sleep. Preferably with him holding me. I shut my eyes and willed Eric to be quiet. "You want things I can't give you. You don't want to be turned. You want children."

I also wanted this conversation to end. "Eric, please." I fumbled under the sheets and found my second-favorite part of him. "Let's do this later." I kissed him. "Don't ruin tonight."

He shrugged off my kiss. "You know I can't marry you. Not how you would like."

I didn't acknowledge him. I couldn't have this talk now. I was too tired to think. I tried not to feel guilty. Distracting him with sex felt low. It was the kind of thing he would pull on me. He gave me a look that said he knew what I was doing, but I stared right back and kept doing it. After a couple seconds, he caved. "More to the left."

I obliged.

I jerked awake the next morning, scared out of a dream. I had been running just before I woke up. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark basement and tried to remember. I had been at Jason's wedding. Michele was a pregnant bride. I sat by Gran. She wore white gloves and a big hat. I remembered seeing Gran and knowing I was dreaming.

The other details were fuzzy. Vampires crashed the ceremony. Maybe they had been trying to kill me. I remembered running. I couldn't remember if Eric had been part of it. I probably dreamed myself into a wedding because Eric was gabbing about it before bed.

I still couldn't see anything, but I knew it was morning because Eric was heavy and cold on top of me. He had gone dead to the world with his arm wrapped around my waist. My skin goosepimpled under his touch.

We'd been dating for months, but I still hadn't gotten used to how dead Eric seemed during the day. The first time I woke up next to him, I'd been grossed out. He looked like a corpse who'd lost his body bag.

Vampires never had a pulse, but at night they seemed as animated as any human. I knew they were dead, but I'd never look at one of them and think it. During the day, the magic that kept them moving drained away and the things that were so forgettable at night—no pulse, cold touch—were all I could notice.

Even after months of regular sleepovers, waking up next to Eric freaked me out. When I dated Bill, he'd slept in a hidey-hole. I'd never seen him dead to the world. Eric, on the other hand, lightproofed his master bedroom. We shared his California King. I knew sharing a bed was a big deal for him. I appreciated that he trusted me enough to let me stay with him during the day, when he was most vulnerable. As a result, I'd never said anything about how icky it sometimes felt waking up next to him. It wasn't as if he could help being dead.

I pried his arm off my waist and picked my scattered clothes off the basement floor. I knew dead Eric was my Eric, but I still couldn't make myself cuddle. I found my jeans, bra, and top without much trouble, but I couldn't track down my underwear. It had been a thong. I felt like a little skanky.

Eric had duct-taped tinfoil to the basement windows so I had no way of knowing what time it was. I hoped it was early enough I could sneak back to the couch without Sam's mom realizing I'd spent the night with Eric. I knew I shouldn't care so much, but I wanted her to like me and I was pretty sure sleeping with a vampire would hurt my cause.

I picked my way up the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. I opened the basement door and stepped into the kitchen.

Sam's mom was at the table, drinking coffee and filing her nails. She gave me an I-know-where-you've-been look. She didn't seem happy. "Good morning."

"Hi." She was alone. "Where's Sam?" I wanted an ally. Sam's mom intimidated me. She stared me down without blinking.

"He's out for a run," she said. "I'd join him, but I don't feel much like shifting."

So it was that kind of run. I was surprised she'd out and said it. We'd only just met. I wondered what kind of animal Sam's mom shifted into. Probably a bird of prey the way she was staring at me. It didn't seem polite to ask.

"Coffee's in the pot," she said.

I filled a mug. All my waitressing made me ask, "Want a warm-up?"

She shook her head, but she wouldn't stop staring. I took a seat. I tried to think of a conversation starter, but she beat me. "Sam says something's wrong with you."

I decided to be truthful. "I hear people's thoughts."

_He's in love with you_, she thought.

"He is not." I was more surprised than anything else. It couldn't be true. If it were, it'd be too nasty of her to think it.

"Hm." She gave me an appraising look. "You're the real thing."

I felt self-conscious. "So are you."

"Sam needs a good woman," she said. "One who understands him."

I didn't like where this was headed. "What are you trying to say?"

She turned up the hem of her shirt to reveal a puckered scar on her abdomen. I realized with a start it was a bullet hole. "People like us three don't mix."

It looked awful. "Melinda, I'm sorry."

She dropped her shirt. "I don't give two beans about sorry as long as you're hearing me."

"I'm with the vampire." I figured she got it when she saw me sneaking up from the basement. I didn't want her getting the wrong impression.

"And where's that going?" she asked. "You think he'll love you when you look like me? You need a man like you, girl. Like to like. Save yourself a world of pain."

I was offended. I couldn't believe how presumptuous she was being. "I appreciate you looking after your son, but this is between Sam and me."

"I don't like watching you play my boy for a fool," she said. "The vampire's not taking you to any weddings."

I wanted to leave, but Eric was trapped in the basement. I was stuck in this house until dark. "If that's the way you feel, why'd you ask me to stay?"

She shrugged. "You read thoughts. I figured I'd do you the courtesy of saying what's on my mind."

_**Thanks for reading and reviewing. Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO.**_


	10. Couples

"I'm sorry," Sam's mom said—the last thing I expected to hear. "I can tell by the look on your face you don't like me, but I care too much about my boy to see him hurt."

She was thinking about Sam's stepdad shooting her. It was all images. She'd shifted into a German Shepherd. I tried to tune her out, but she was broadcasting too loud. "You're hurting."

"Those are my private thoughts," she snapped, then sighed. "I'm sorry. I know you can't help it. You seem like a good girl." She corrected herself, "I mean, I know you're not a girl, but people here they talk like 'girl, this' and 'woman that.' I hate it and I hate saying it, but what I mean is, you seem all right."

"Okay." She didn't know me from Adam, but I appreciated the apology.

"If it were me with the mind reading, I'd want people to say things to my face."

"It isn't you with the mind reading." Voiced or thought, meanness wasn't easy to hear.

"If you're going to hear it either way—" Sam's mom shrugged. I thought she was going to argue with me, but then she stopped herself. "I'm sorry. I'm worried about my boy. And I'm worried about you, dating a vampire. I know I got no right. I don't know you."

"You don't know Eric." He wasn't just some vampire. We'd been through a lot together.

"Eric?" Sam's mom laughed. "I was expecting something fancier."

"He's pretty regular." Ok, that wasn't true, but Eric wasn't one of those people who broadcasted their importance with a fancy name.

Sam's mom raised an eyebrow. "Sure. And I'm Ethel Merman."

"I don't know who that is."

"It ain't me," she said. "Look, I don't know you and I don't know your vampire. But I'm old, so I've done a little more living. And I loved Sam's father, but that wasn't enough to make it work."

"You got divorced?" Sam had never told me.

She shrugged, which didn't answer my question. "He was a real wild man." She had a gooey smile on her face. "Nick, my second, was a much better husband. More dependable."

Until he shot her. I didn't say it out loud.

After a couple seconds, she seemed to get that I didn't want to dish on Eric. "Forget it. You do what you want. I'm making eggs. You hungry?"

Food was the best peace offering. "Sure."

I was starving. I hadn't eaten last night and Eric had fed from me twice. Sam's mom started cracking eggs over the stove. Like all good cooks, she dipped into her jar of bacon grease to flavor the pan. "You like them fried or scrambled?"

"Sunny side up."

We fell into a more comfortable silence. The sound of sizzling eggs reminded me of Gran. I looked at Sam's mom bent over the stove and wondered how often she got to cook breakfast for someone. I didn't need to read minds to know she was lonely. I knew her harshness probably came from love. I still didn't like her, but I wanted to do something nice.

"I care about Sam," I said, as she set breakfast in front of me. "He's my best friend. You've raised a good boy."

"Don't I know it." As she set down at the table, she sighed. "I don't want him to end up alone."

I heard the _like me_ in her thoughts, but I could read it on her face. "He won't," I said. "I don't know how he's managed it this long." As far as I was concerned, Sam was the only catch in Bon Temps. "He's seeing someone, actually."

"Really?" Sam's mom perked up. "Who is she?"

"Some girl. I don't like her." I wasn't going to lie. "But Sam seems to."

She laughed. "That's what's important."

I helped Melinda do the dishes before finding my way to the back porch. The sun was high in the sky. I decided to nap—Eric hadn't let me sleep much—and squeeze in a few hours of tanning. I hadn't brought my bikini, but I unbuttoned my blouse to the top of my bra and knotted the bottom hem up over my bellybutton.

Even though I felt better about Sam's mom, I couldn't stop thinking about what she said to me. I worried that a bit of it might be right. I knew she was off base when it came to Sam and me. Other than our few stolen kisses and a healthy appreciation for the way he wore his jeans, I'd never thought much what it would be to date him. I suspected his feelings for me were similarly unexplored. I didn't buy he'd been carrying a major torch all these years and never said a word. That didn't sound like the Sam I knew. He was an upfront guy. He would have been straight with me.

I thought Sam's mom's insistence that he and I couple up because we were both different had more to do with her that us. She'd been shot in the stomach because she'd hidden the truth about herself, for crying out loud. I'd want my son to marry someone he could be open with too, if that had happened to me.

As for Sam needing a good woman, I couldn't agree more. Jannalynn didn't cut the mustard. Maybe at some time and in some place that woman could have been me, but I was with Eric. I valued Sam too much as a friend to think of him as potential second fiddle.

Ok. That was that. I'd figured one thing out. I already felt better. Eric would be proud. He was always whining at me to face my problems.

Speaking of Eric.

I sighed and opened my eyes. The backyard was empty. It was the perfect time to think about Eric's late night yammerings—Eric himself wasn't here to pressure me. No one was trying to kill me. Sam's mom wasn't around to say what a bad idea it was to date a vampire.

Maybe it was the perfect time to think about Eric, but I didn't want to. I closed my eyes again. I'd just enjoy the sunlight. After the morning I had, I deserved a break. Maybe I'd take a nap. Eric kept me up until dawn.

I tried to relax, but I couldn't keep my eyes closed.

I had to think about Eric. If I didn't, he would strong-arm me into whatever arrangement he wanted. If I wanted control, I had to set parameters. It was self-preservation.

Eric was such a pain. Even dead to the world, he wouldn't leave me alone.

Last night Eric voiced fears that I would leave him. Sam's mom had said Eric would leave me. I thought they were both wrong, but their fears identified a central problem in my relationship with Eric. We lacked precedent. If I didn't become like Eric—that is, let him turn me—people assumed we'd reach a breaking point and go our separate ways. We were too different. Humans aged and died. Vampires lived forever.

I knew what my life would look like if I married Sam, or anyone who aged on my timetable. We'd have kids and get old together. Eventually, we'd die. I don't mean to be grim. It would be nice living life with someone at my side going through exactly what I was going through. I wanted to have a partner. I didn't want to experience things alone.

I had no idea what life with Eric would look like. I'd probably get killed before I was old enough to have ageing become an issue, but that was hardly a consolation. There were no set benchmarks for us to hit: kids, getting old, death—we wouldn't do any of that as a couple. If I wanted to be with Eric long-term—whatever that meant—I'd have to give up certainty. I had to accept that all the milestones I'd looked forward to since I was a kid probably wouldn't happen and trust that we'd work out problems we couldn't even anticipate now.

Maybe Eric was right. Maybe I was living vicariously through Craig's wedding. If I was, I hadn't been consciously aware of it. I wasn't thrilled that I couldn't get old with Eric or have kids with him. Pam was the only person we ever hung out with as a couple. If Eric and I ever became part of a community, it would be some weird, hierarchical vampire one, and not something friendly and normal, like Bon Temps Elementary PTA.

I could never have children with Eric. It was a physical fact. I'd also be irresponsible to adopt. If Eric was even remotely warm to the idea, and he had given me no indication that he was, I'd be just about the worst person alive to bring a child into the world of constant death threats and fighting that revolved around Eric.

I knew Eric wanted to turn me. I also trusted him not to do it unless I asked. There was something comforting about living forever, but also something really sad. All the vampires I knew seemed dead to their feelings. They doled out violence with a level of callousness I was convinced came from the fact that they healed so fast and didn't remember what it was like to really be hurt themselves. I understood violence was survival for them, but I didn't want that life for myself.

If I didn't let Eric turn me, I would get old. That wasn't so terrible. My Gran had been beautiful in her old age. She wore her wrinkles like medals of a life well lived. What scared me most about ageing was how Eric would react. He was more ancient than my Gran a hundred times over, but he didn't look a day over thirty. What happened when people mistook me for his mother? Would the day come when I wasn't attractive to him anymore? I knew he wouldn't abandon me to live my last years alone, but what if I couldn't hold his interest? I couldn't stomach the thought of him having sex with younger women. But I also wouldn't want to keep him from what he was. Eric had a huge appetite for sex and life. A time would come when I couldn't keep up.

But even so, even after all that, even after everything that seemed wrong, I still wanted to be with him. I wanted to see him. I felt tightness in my chest close to panic when I thought that our problems maybe couldn't be solved and we'd have to separate. I loved Eric, but it terrified me.

Sam walked onto the back porch, toweling his hair. He was fresh from the shower. Little droplets clung to his forehead. I'd never cheat, but he looked delicious.

"Why the long face?" he asked.

I exhaled the breath I hadn't thought I was holding. "The future is terrifying."

Sam shut the porch door. I took that to mean his Mom was still in the kitchen. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nope." I didn't want to think about it either.

Sam wasn't going to let it got that easy. "What's wrong?" He sat on the lawn chair across from me. He looked concerned. "Is it my Mom? I knew she looked guilty when I came in. What did she say?"

"Your Mom is fine." I put my face in my hands. I'd opened the door to this conversation but I wanted to stick my head in the sand until it had gone away. "Eric's getting antsy. He wants a more permanent arrangement."

I picked up on Sam's worry before he said anything. "He wants to turn you?" In his head, Sam christened Eric a few expletives.

Hearing Sam's voice and thoughts disoriented me. Normally I can handle that kind of thing, but this talk was hitting close to home for me to sort it out fast. It took me a second to find my words. "No. Not that."

"Then what? Getting married?"

"Not that either. At least not in the traditional sense. I don't know. I guess that's the problem."

"Do you want him in your life?"

"I love him."

"That's not what I asked." I sighed. I'd hoped Sam wouldn't notice. "Sookie, ever since you've been tangled up with the vampires, you've been in some kind of trouble. I know yesterday wasn't Eric's fault, but you shouldn't have to deal with assassins and hiding bodies and arson and who knows what else."

"Yesterday was nothing new." I knew Sam was trying to help, but he was frustrating me. It would be nice if I didn't 'have to deal' with all the danger, but I did and there was no way to avoid it. Even so, "I hate living like this." I took a breath, determined not to cry. When I spoke, my voice stayed steady. "I feel afraid all the time. Not just of what will happen. I'm afraid of what I'll do. I killed someone yesterday."

Sam squeezed my hand. "You saved my life."

"And I'm glad I could." I squeezed his hand back. But my problem wasn't the biker. It was the bigger pattern. "He's the second person I killed this month." The first had been Bruno, another would-be assassin.

Sam was quiet. I felt surprise, anxiety, and fear in his thoughts, but he settled on a neutral, "What happened?"

"It was self-defense." I threw up my shields. I had to keep talking but I couldn't stomach what Sam might think of me. "Eric and I also killed his family and a fairy, kind of my family. Eric drained the fairy right in my front yard. They were trying to kill us. Someone's always trying to kill us." I couldn't keep it straight. "Before, Pam and I went to Mississippi and some club owners attacked us. We didn't kill them, but Pam gouged a guy's eyes and then another vampire finished the job."

"Cher, this was happening and you come into work every day? Was this when you took the two days to go to Tunica?"

"Yes. And I'm glad I'm alive and they're dead." I knew I shouldn't tell Sam all this—for Eric's safety, if nothing else—and because Sam might judge me and because he would definitely know how screwed up my life was, but I couldn't stop the words from pouring out. "I'm not going to let myself get killed, but I feel horrible. And I'm most afraid I'll wake up one day and it will feel normal."

"It's not normal." Sam looked like he was going to be sick. "You deserve better."

"It's not a question of deserving. If I don't fight back, they'll kill me."

"Sookie, do you think you seek out these kind of situations?" Sam said.

"Do I look crazy? Why would I do that?"

"Plenty of people want to be with you—would be lucky to be with you, I mean. You don't have to choose a vampire."

I heard the thought in his head, _what kind of woman chooses vampires_, and knew enough to guess its source. "Is that your Mom?"

"What?" Sam looked back at the house like he expected her to step out.

"What woman chooses a vampire?" I said. "How could she say that to you? I'm not some fangbanger."

"It's not my mother," Sam said.

That was worse. "So _you_ think I'm a slut?"

"Sookie, calm down," he said. "I think you're like me."

That was enough of a surprise to knock the anger out of me, but I still didn't get it. "You're a fangbanger?"

"We're both different," Sam said, reiterating his mother's language. "So often I'm on the outside looking in, I feel like I don't deserve the things normal people have, but Sookie, you do. We both do. Don't you want kids? Some peace and quiet? Don't cut yourself off from the possibility of a normal life because you're afraid."

I was offended. "Afraid of what?"

"Rejection? I don't know. Not being understood."

I sighed. "Sam, all I want is to be normal."

"I want normal too," Sam said. "Look, the bar was my dream. A place for people to gather. But even when I mix, something holds me back. I guess the shifting." Sam shrugged. "We have something extra, but I feel like something's missing."

I knew what he meant, but the way he described it sounded horrible. "Sam, anyone would be lucky to have you."

"Back at you," he said. "Eric is not the only person who loves you for what you are." He smiled at me, but he looked sad. "Anyone would love you."

His tone made me nervous. Maybe his mother had been right. Either way, I had to be honest with him.

"I don't want just anyone," I said. "I want Eric. I love him. That's the problem. And it's not because I'm afraid of normal people—although sometimes I don't like them and it helps that I can't hear Eric's thoughts—it's because, oh I don't know the half, but definitely because of who he is and how crazy he makes me feel." I paused. I finally understood what I had been trying to say. "I want him because he's a person, not because he's a vampire. I wish he weren't. I want everything normal with him I could have with anyone else."

_You want it because you can't have it._ I turned around. Sam's mom stood in the kitchen door. It took me a second to realize she hadn't said it aloud. "Are you listening?" I asked, before I could stop myself.

"Couldn't help hearing." Then, she turned to Sam like I wasn't there. "I thought you were going into town for sticky buns."

"Sorry," he said. "Lost track of time." He looked at me. "Want to come for a drive?"

"Yeah." I gave Sam's mom one last glare and stood up. She'd really rattled me. Besides, all this thinking had put me in a funk. Getting out of the house could only do me good.

As I followed Sam into the kitchen, I gave Sam's mom a nod. I'd take the high road. Everything felt so hot and cold with her. Maybe in a weird way she'd done me a favor by pushing my buttons. I had been avoiding thinking about where things with Eric were headed, and it was clear I couldn't live in the moment forever. I had to take control one way or the other. Life without him might end up being easier.

"Do you think easy makes things better?" I asked Sam as we piled into the Lincoln. He'd moved the truck into his mother's garage before we went to bed last night.

Sam frowned. "I think there's a lot more to that question than what you're telling me." He put on his turn signal as we went out of the driveway, even though there was no one else on the road.

"Yeah." He was right, but I didn't feel like sharing more than I already had. He probably knew what I was talking about anyway.

Sam didn't push me. "I like easy," he said as we turned onto the main road. "It takes pressure off. It's also an escape." He looked over at me. "Is this helping?"

"Yes." What I got from Sam's talk was two opposite ideas that were no different than the ones already in my head. I could leave Eric and live the life most everyone else was living. Find someone to love and get old together. Share a whole life. Did wanting that make me smart or did that make me a coward?

"You're not one to run away from a challenge, Sookie." Sam said. Wright's main street was a collection of run-down single-family homes and a gas station.

"I do best when I don't have time to think." Danger and decisions took different kinds of bravery.

Sam shrugged. "Don't we all."

"Not really. A lot of people can't handle pressure." Maybe those people could handle relationships. Sam pulled into the gas station. "I thought we were going for sticky buns."

"We are." He shut off the Lincoln. "This is the only shop in town."

And I had though Bon Temps was small. "No wonder Craig wanted to leave." That, and his abrasive mother.

Sam laughed. I felt guilty and was glad he couldn't read my thoughts. "Deidra's father owns the store. He had trouble with the whole shifter thing. That's why Mom sent me. Come on." He got out of the car. I followed.

There were two stickers on the shop door: an American flag sticker and one of those Jesus fish. "Religious?" I asked Sam.

He pitched his voice low. "Yeah. It didn't help when Mom turned into a dog." It should have. Jesus loved the sinners who needed it most. I tried to act like a good Christian, even this month when I was being a really bad one.

The bell rang when we walked in the door. The radio over the loudspeakers was set to some weird foreign music. "Hi Richard," Sam said.

A large Arab man wearing a polo shirt and pressed khakis stood behind the counter. I was surprised. I figured with a name like Deidra, her family would be as white as most everyone else I knew from West Texas.

"Sam." Richard stepped out from behind the counter, opened his arms and pulled him into a hug. "It has been too long. You look very good." He looked at me and smiled. "Who is this? Your wife?"

"Sookie's a friend," Sam said.

"An old one." I shook Richard's hand. With the touch, I automatically dipped into his thoughts. They weren't in English, but I didn't recognize the language. I wondered what had brought him to Wright. "Congratulations on the wedding."

"Wedding?" Richard made a face. He obviously didn't think much of it. "Deidra is a very young girl. She has never been outside Texas. She wants to go, she can go. She will see the world and send me a postcard."

"So they gave you a call too?"

"No. They stopped before they left. They say they have an announcement. I think, oh good, a grandchild. Mary, that's my wife," he added for my benefit, "is crying she is so happy. Then they tell me they are going to Las Vegas. I say, don't waste your money. My wife says young love." He sighed. "Who am I to argue?"

"I got a phone call," Sam said. "My Mom got nothing."

"You were on the road." I noticed Richard didn't say anything about Sam's mom. "Deidra says you are meeting them in Nevada."

"Yeah," Sam said. "We're spending the day with Mom then taking off tonight."

"Very good," Richard said. "You must come for dinner. There are some things Mary wants you to take. Gifts. She doesn't want champagne in the house."

The idea of Mary loading up the Lincoln set off my alarm bells. Eric needed the trunk space. "Sam, the car's pretty full." I looked over at Richard. "I don't mean to be rude. I packed heavy."

"We're taking off right after dark," Sam said. "But I'll swing by and we can load the back seat."

"Think about dinner," Richard said. "Bring your mother too. The whole family. We are having wedding cake."

"Speaking of cake," Sam walked down the nearest aisle with the confidence of a regular and grabbed a package of sticky buns. He tried to check out, but Richard wouldn't let him pay. We agreed to stop by their house around 6:30. As Sam and I piled back in the car, I had trouble reconciling the Richard I'd met with Sam's warning. I'd expected a Fellowship of the Sun type.

"I thought you said he was trouble."

"He had a hard time with the shifter thing. But so did Deidra and Craig." Sam shrugged. "He's trying to be family. Did you like him?"

"I barely know him, but yeah, sure." Richard talked so much and with such enthusiasm it was hard to concentrate on anything else. It was almost like watching television. "Do you?"

"Yes," Sam said. "He's trying to mend bridges and I appreciate that. Craig loves him. He loves that whole family." We started backing out of the lot, then out of the blue Sam asked, "So how'd you get along with Mom?"

I didn't know how to respond. I wanted to be polite, but I wasn't going to lie. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "Just making conversation." He wasn't. He was so nervous I could feel it in the flavor of his thoughts. "She's a tough cookie."

"I understand why you didn't bring Jannalynn." That would have been a disaster.

"They're both strong personalities," Sam piggybacked with the euphemism of the century.

And just like that—maybe it was something in his tone—the whole Sam-Jannalynn relationship clicked for me. Jannalynn's abrasive, take-no-prisoners attitude reminded Sam of his mother. I hoped I was wrong but I really didn't think I was.

In all my years of knowing him, who had Sam dated? Other than Jannalynn, the only person I could think of was the Maenad, who had definitely been trouble. I felt like I was having the revelation of the century. Sam had such a good head on his shoulders. I'd always assumed he'd fallen into these relationships with scary, domineering women. Did he seek them out?

I was glad Sam couldn't read my mind. "Mom can be a little tough sometimes, but its only because she wants what's best."

Sure, I believed that. Before I got to Wright, I'd thought Craig was a big jerk for abandoning his Mom. Now, I was understood it a little more. I thought it was telling that Sam seemed to love his Mom best and he lived 800 miles away. "How does she get along with your sister?"

"Eh," Sam shrugged. "Glenn, that's my sister's husband, doesn't get along with anyone." I took that to mean Sam's mother and sister weren't on good terms. "But I'm glad you and Mom had a chance to talk."

"Yep." I didn't volunteer anything else.

I had a new appreciation for Eric's stonewalling.

_**Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Vegas is up soon. I'm trying to think of a way to bring in Pam once they hit the big city...**_


	11. Bonds

Sam and I spent the afternoon playing catch. Seriously. We found a wiffle ball dating from when Sam and Craig were kids and batted it around his Mom's backyard. I had a great time, especially after Sam told me he played first-string varsity in high school.

"So that's why you coach Little League?"

"Sure." Sam tossed the ball to me underhand. I hit a homer, meaning I knocked it the ten or so feet to his mom's back porch. "And I like kids."

"Who doesn't?" Soon as I said it, I thought of exceptions: Victor, Pam, Eric.

Actually, I didn't know how Eric felt about kids. He raised a few of his own when he had been human, but these days, he probably didn't think about them. Children would be afraid of Eric, once they stopped oohing over the flying and saw his fangs.

I didn't want to go down that road. I distracted myself with a ceremonial "home run" lap around the backyard. The sun was bright and the breeze was light and perfect, like a cool kiss. Sam and I weren't keeping score, so my run was more of a feel-good exercise than anything else. "If you like kids, maybe you should coach," Sam said as I touched the tree we'd designated home plate.

"Never thought about it." I did like kids. I loved softball and little league was close enough. I started getting excited about the idea then realized I was fooling myself. This trip proved I couldn't even vacation without an attempt on my life. Endangering children was out of the question. "I can't." Even if I wanted to.

"Why? You'd be great." Sam studied me. Uh oh. "It might be good for you to branch out." He was thinking about Eric.

"Meaning what?"

"Maybe time off from vampires wouldn't be bad."

"Yeah?" I'd expect a little vampire bashing from Jason—two years ago—but I thought Sam and I understood each other better. "How?" Call me vindictive, but I wanted to watch Sam dig his own grave. Maybe I wanted an excuse to yell at him, too.

"If you're unhappy—" he glared. "Don't look at me like that, you told me you were frightened."

"I didn't ask for your diagnosis."

Now Sam looked pissed. "Friends give advice."

"Advice? Every time something goes wrong, people are on my back about vampires."

"You told me he scared you."

I threw up my hands. "Fine. Blame Eric for my problems, because I can't make my own mess." I dropped the bat and bee-lined for the house.

Sam yelled "Sookie, wait," like he wanted to apologize, but I let the door slam anyway.

It wasn't that Sam didn't have a point. I loved Eric, but I at best felt ambivalent about his influence on my life and safety. Even so, I wouldn't tolerate other people, and especially people who didn't know what they were talking about, blaming Eric as the root of my problems. I was in deep enough with supes, shitstorms would rage whether I was with Eric or not. If we broke up, my situation would probably get worse. Lack of control scared me more than Eric: not knowing where we were headed or where my limits were. Eric liked to make rules, so if I didn't beat him to it, I'd be trapped in a situation I wouldn't like.

I went straight to the basement—it was the one place I was sure Sam wouldn't follow—and crawled in next to Eric, who was still naked, and unfortunately, still dead.

"You're too cold." I griped as I peeled off my top and clung to him monkey-style. He couldn't help it and I didn't blame him. I needed to complain, blow off steam. "You would be perfect if you had a pulse." As soon as it was out of my mouth, I realized how stupid it sounded. "Okay, you would be your weird controlling self and probably wouldn't be half as good at sex, but no one would try to kill us." Which was a big plus in my book. "You wouldn't kill people. And I wouldn't have to." It had been just a little over 24 hours since I'd shot the biker. I wanted to forget about it and hated myself for it.

Eric didn't say anything—which was good because if he were actually awake he'd say something I wouldn't like. I was too smart to talk to him like this when he could answer.

"You are so hard to love," I said, since I was putting it all out there, "And I do, even though you make me want to tear my hair out. Your secrets, high-handedness. Then, there are the things you can't even help—like Victor trying to kill you and not really knowing right from wrong."

I wasn't being fair. "Okay, you do know right from wrong. Sort of." Eric wasn't a sadist or evil or anything. But he didn't care when Alexi murdered innocent bystanders. "It's just not the right-and-wrong scale I'm used to. Or comfortable with." Yet.

The 'yet' scared me more than anything.

"I don't want to be you, baby," I whispered. I feared, against logic, that if I said it louder he might wake up.

I put my head on his chest. I wasn't expecting a heartbeat, but couldn't help feeling disappointed when I didn't hear anything. His skin was clammy. He didn't feel that different than the biker.

That made me wonder: how dead was Eric? Rhodes proved he could wake up during the day. But his daytime rest wasn't sleep. It looked wrong, too still, even to an untrained eye. I decided to experiment and peeled back Eric's eyelid.

Normal peoples' eyes twitch when they sleep. Eric's was still, rotated to show more white than iris. I waited a few seconds. His pupil didn't dilate. I dropped his lid. I knew I shouldn't be poking him like this, but he'd never know and now I was interested.

"How do your fangs work?" I said, getting into the spirit of my game. I lifted his lip. His jaw was slack, just a little space between his upper and lower teeth. Eric's fangs came from the second set of teeth over from the center. Now they looked blunt, normal.

"Sorry," I said as I touched his gum. Nothing. It felt normal. Maybe the fangs were in his palate or something. I pried his teeth apart with a finger and ventured further back into his mouth—

He swatted me on the side of my head. His hand dropped back to the mattress immediately, dead weight. "Sookie, stop," he muttered, voice muddled both by whatever weird sleep gripped him and my fingers in his mouth.

I pulled out my fingers. "I thought you were dead."

He kind of grunted and tucked his hand under my bra strap, like he was going to take it off, but had forgotten halfway. Then he was still.

I fell asleep after that. When I woke up, Eric had removed my bra and was busy kissing his way down my stomach. "Stop." I grabbed his hair. "Do you remember this afternoon?"

"No. Why?" He shook free of my hand and continued to kiss his way south.

"I woke you up," I said. "You don't remember?"

"While I appreciate you not being able to spend twelve hours without me—" I smacked his head for that. "Why did you wake me? Was it important?"

"No."

He stopped kissing and stared at me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I shrugged. I didn't know how to articulate my worries to myself, let alone him. I wished he had remembered. The daytime was one more thing between us. Although on the other hand, I liked my space, so maybe Eric's daytime rest was a blessing. If I had 24 hours of him, I'm pretty sure I'd drop dead of exhaustion. "I'm in house funk. Had a fight with Sam so I've spent most of the afternoon with you."

"And that upsets you?"

"Not at all," I kissed him. "But I'm not used to being underground this long."

He knew I was making excuses. I knew he knew. But, for once, he was a gentleman and changed the subject. "What did the shifter do?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in," I said, which was true. "We fought about Little League."

Eric looked bored just hearing it. "This is the children's game you dragged me to?"

Talk about selective memory. "You mean the game you stalked me to?"

Eric shrugged. "I wouldn't have gone if you hadn't been there."

"That's called stalking."

"Then I stalked you." He buried his face in my hair. "I liked it."

I'd liked it too. "Creep."

"Enough," he said. "In twenty minutes, we're on the road to Vegas."

"Twenty minutes?" I found his butt and squeezed. "Stingy."

"Quiet, woman," he said. Then he flipped me onto the bed and sank his fangs into my neck.

I yelped. It stung more than hurt, even though I hadn't been expecting it. He sucked and I felt some trickle down my neck. The more he drank the more the bite throbbed and the more I felt loose-limbed and dizzy, like I'd had one too many gin and tonics. He was getting hard.

His fangs clicked out of my throat. It stung until he licked the wound. "You're so good," he murmured. "You taste sweet."

Then he part-kissed, more attacked me, lips still bloody. I got a big old metallic mouthful of myself. He could wax poetic all he wanted, but the taste made my skin crawl. "Eric—" I tried to come up for air.

"Bite me," he murmured against my mouth. He didn't mean it figuratively.

By his rules, we only had twenty minutes. "Vegas—"

"Bite me," he repeated, pinning me to the bed beneath him. "I want to feel close to you." He was hard and rubbing against me and the more he did it, the more I got into it, so I let the ticking clock go and bit his throat.

My teeth weren't sharp like his, so it was more of a rip than a prick. He gave a good long groan and I kissed the wound I'd made. His blood was thick and sweet. As I sucked, I felt my heart rate pick up and my hair stand on end. I goosepimpled. Every pore on my body opened, waking up from a nap I hadn't known they'd took. His hands felt scalding hot. His touch, electric. I was ready for him, more than ready, as he spread my legs and pushed inside me.

Somewhere along the line I'd lost his wound. Maybe it healed. I put my hands on his chest. No heartbeat, but I could feel my blood pumping inside him. My pulse echoed in my ears, louder than usual.

"Listen," I whispered and put his hand on my throat at the pulse point. My blood leapt out of my veins to be near him. I could feel it push against the thin layer of skin and sinew.

"I hear you always," he said, increasing his thrusts. I cried out. He put his fingers in my mouth. It was sloppy and I felt drunk. My pulse drummed loud like it was knocking on a door that, suddenly, swung open. I gasped. I felt every one of my arteries—at once, I knew where they all were—a map, just learned. When I felt blood fire through them, hot and fast, it was a level of clarity beyond my senses. I'd never been so in touch with my own body. I realized he was opening the bond. This is how he felt all the time. This is what it was to be a vampire.

It felt really good.

I probably yelled his name. I don't even know. The next thing, we were lying in a tangle of sweat—all mine—sheets kicked on the floor. He had his head on my chest. I opened my mouth to thank him, but he put his hand over it.

His head was on my chest. He opened the bond again and I heard my heart pounding. Each thump tugged: I felt longing. I felt empty. I wanted- something, more desperately than I'd wanted anything before. The desire was so powerful; I felt high. Giddy. My throat was dry. I salivated. And it was that, the kind of gross human reflex that made me realize he was sharing his hunger. Fear shot through me. He was trying to make me like him.

"Eric, stop." He didn't. He was too turned on. He was hard again.

So I put my hand on his face and tried to shoot my panic at him.

He sat up like I'd slapped him. "What was that?"

He liked this stupid bond so much, he could get it. I grabbed his face and sent all my frustration, the lack of control—being forced to run from one life threatening situation to the next—the desperation, my fears that he wasn't as good as he seemed, that I hoped he was. That was all far too specific for what really felt like exhaustion and panic.

I dropped my hand. He stared at me, then said, "Apologize."

"Why?" I hadn't done anything.

"I give you good feelings, you—" he wasn't able to finish the sentence. His accent came out strongly. He was upset. He got out of bed and pulled on pants.

"You mind-controlled me."

"I share what I feel," he said. "Don't distrust me."

I was spitting mad. "Then don't give me the reason."

"I don't." He picked my top off the floor and threw it at me. I caught it before it hit me in the face. Vampire reflexes. I'd had too much blood. "I'll be in the car."

He was up the stairs and gone before I blinked.


	12. Mexican Standoff

I grabbed my jeans, socks, shoes. I couldn't find my panties—again—so I felt skanky on top of rotten.

Plus mad. No, more than mad: furious. I couldn't believe Eric blasted me with his bond mumbo jumbo. He should have known better. We'd talked about how much I hated the bond. Many times. Then he still pulled one over me. Which just went to show that Eric didn't listen—or understand—when I told him how I felt. Maybe a taste of my feelings would stick better than words.

Worst of all, Eric hadn't stopped when I asked. I wasn't sure he'd even heard me. He'd been carried away. He'd frightened me.

I zapped him in self-defense.

When he'd looked at me and demanded a_pologize, _he had seemed so hurt. I couldn't understand why. He had been in control. I flopped on the bed and hid my face in my hands. I would not cry. I couldn't let Eric see red eyes. And I wouldn't apologize. At least not until he did. I hadn't done anything wrong.

I controlled my breathing. I wiped my eyes. No stray tears. No tears period. When I got myself under control, I flicked on the overhead light to check for my panties. That's when I saw the bloodstains on Sam's mom's sheets.

Great.

Eric and I were the worst houseguests of all time. If it were possible, I would have died of embarrassment. There was nothing I could do to hide the blood short of stealing Sam's mom's linens. I was tempted and if Gran hadn't raised me better, I might have done it. Instead, I stripped the sofa bed and folded the dirty linens into a perfect square, stains tucked underneath the top layer of crisp white. Maybe Sam's mom would throw the sheets into the washer without noticing our mess. Maybe hell would freeze over.

I trudged upstairs to find Eric and Sam at opposite ends of the couch, watching TV.

Um, okay.

Honestly? Not okay. It weirded me out. I knew it shouldn't. Sam and Eric were allowed to hang out, if that's what you could call this: Sam looked like someone had just died and Eric glared at the TV like he wanted to smash it.

"Where's your mom?" I asked Sam, trying not to stare.

"Errands," Sam said. "She says bye."

Thank god. One less stress factor in an already difficult day.

"Quiet," Eric said to Sam, not me—I might as well have not been in the room. He turned up the TV volume.

"Tonight: a national network of drugs, money laundering and prostitution spun out of a nightclub in Shreveport, Louisiana." I sat on the arm of the couch closest to Sam just in time to Fangtasia disappear, replaced by my all-time favorite evening news cutie, Shep Smith. "But first, headlines." Shep flipped to footage of a bombing in the Middle East.

Eric dialed down the volume.

I wish I could say I was surprised to see Eric's club flash across the screen. But I just felt exhausted. I'd watched the DEA raid Fangtasia on live CNN. Worse now seemed inevitable.

"I've been watching all afternoon," Sam said. "Lots of lies. Eric looks bad. Let's hit the road. We've got a 12-hour drive." When neither of us moved, he tried again. "Why put yourself through this B.S.?"

Eric and I needed to know the charges against him in order to disprove them. Mad as I was, there was no way I'd leave Eric to face a trumped-up government indictment alone. Plus I would enjoy taking Victor down. I'd been looking forward to kicking his dead ass for months. "I want to hear this." Shep was back at Fangtasia, replaying the clip of the DEA raid. As Eric's face flashed across the TV, he dialed the volume up.

"—illegal blood ring, enslaving humans and farming them out to other vampires."

"I was sixteen," a teary woman, face blurred out, appeared. She was identified only as _Lori_. "He asked me if I wanted to have a good time. I said yes. The next thing I knew—"

Sam grabbed the remote from Eric. Hit mute. "This is sick."

Eric snatched the clicker back. Ramped up the sound. "He fed from me. Told me he loved me." Lori lost her words in sobs.

A female anchor: "But he didn't love you?"

Lori: "No."

Shep came back. "Lori wasn't the only one. According to the government's indictment, Eric Northman sat at the head of a human trafficking network. That's right: he traded human beings as commodities."

A chubby-cheeked four-eyes filled the screen. Professor so-and-so, expert. "Vampires take advantage of people. Period. It's their M.O. When they came out of the coffin, it solved the great cold cases: Jack the Ripper—"

Eric snapped the TV off.

"I gotta get to my brother's wedding." Sam stood up. On his bee-line for the front door he paused, obviously rattled about something. "Sookie, you should know-"

My mouth dried. "What?" What would be so bad it required a preamble? Normally Sam told me news straight.

"You've been mentioned in a few news segments."

"Mentioned how?"

"Name. Picture. Wanted for questioning." Sam's face told me there was more, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. I thought about listening to his thoughts but didn't want to snoop. It would come out soon enough. "Look. I said goodbye to Mom. I'm done here. You want to go to Vegas, Eric? Now's the time. Bus is leaving."

I understood Sam's frustration, but didn't like his tone. "We're driving a Lincoln."

Sam cracked a smile. "Metaphorical bus."

He left. The door slammed behind him. Eric and I were alone.

In the silence, I heard the house: clicking air conditioning, sloshing dishwasher. Eric studied the black TV screen. Why wouldn't he look at me?

I waited. I waited for him to stop staring at the blank screen. I waited for him to apologize. Hell could freeze, sky could rip, Pat Roberston could be a Jew, but I wasn't saying sorry first.

In resolving to stay mad, I got sidetracked quick. I made the mistake of looking at Eric. God. He was beautiful. I spent so much time with him I hardly noticed it anymore. But when I looked at him—and I was glaring—I could hardly believe my luck. My toes curled remembering being with him. For a while I'd pretended all I needed out of our relationship was sex and, did I ever enjoy it, but it wasn't even the best part. Eric got me. He had a sense of humor. He challenged me- held his own. He was exciting. Dangerous.

Dangerous usually tripped me up, but after the past few days, I could see it with new eyes. After all, I was a little dangerous too, maybe. I'd dragged Sam into this mess. The biker had been after me. I'd killed him to protect Sam and I'd do it again to save Sam or Eric or anyone I cared about. Eric and I saw the world in different ways, but maybe, in some respects, we weren't so dissimilar.

Just thinking practically, I needed to be with someone who had above-average survival skills. In the supe world, dangerous could be a synonym for competent. "Eric—" I didn't know where I was going after that, but it turned out I didn't need to. As soon as I opened my mouth, Eric got to his feet and followed Sam out the front door. He didn't acknowledge me. The door slammed. I flopped on the couch, hurt and a little surprised.

When I made it to the Lincoln, Eric was already riding shotgun, so I took the backseat. I was immediately caught between two silent treatments. Sam in the driver's seat was upset about FOX's Fangtasia coverage. Eric, staring out the passenger window, wouldn't look at either of us.

He didn't want to talk? Fine. He wasn't the only one smarting from our fight. I knew he didn't understand what had gone wrong. I'd tried to open a dialogue, but he'd shot me down. I honestly wasn't sure we could hash it out. Eric was exhilarating, but also exhausting. Worst of all, he never learned. We kept chasing ourselves in these circles. Treating me like I didn't exist wasn't helping his cause. If he wanted to disengage, fine. I could let him go. Probably.

I sealed my mouth and stared out window.

I thought we were going to pull onto the interstate when Sam veered off the main road and parked in front of a well-kept farmhouse. "Deidra's family," he said before I could ask. "Her Mom asked me to pick up wedding gifts." Deidra's father Richard mentioned it at the shop that morning. It felt like months ago. "I'll be five minutes," Sam killed the ignition and got out of the car.

Leaving Eric and me alone.

Eric's silence was deadening. My resolve went out the window. "You scared me," I said, when I couldn't take quiet anymore. "It was the only way I could get you to stop."

"That wasn't my intention." Then nothing.

"So?"

Eric shrugged.

His phone rang. He couldn't have timed it better. "I am here."

Eric paused, listening. The caller had to be Pam, Bill, or Mr. Castiledes. Everyone else thought he was dead. I liked them all, but was miffed at being interrupted.

Headlights flooded our back window as a car pulled in behind us.

"A flight? Under what name?"

The headlights switched off and with it, the glare, letting me see the car clearly for the first time. Blue and white paint. Siren on top. Cop cruiser.

Shit.

I tapped Eric's shoulder. His eyes flicked to the back window as an officer emerged.

"You're on a watch list now if you weren't already. Don't fly." Eric paused. "I don't care if you call yourself the Queen of England." If he was talking like that, his caller had to be Pam. Eric eyed the cop as he neared our car. "I don't know how deep Victor's plan goes. We are at an extreme disadvantage. Sookie and I are about to be arrested—"

"Don't jinx it," I hissed as the officer rapped on the driver's side window.

"I'll see you when I see you." Eric told his phone. Then hung up.

The officer knocked. Again. "I see ya'll in there."

Eric turned around and looked at me for the first time since our fight. I didn't have to feel the bond to know how angry he was. His face said it all. "You going to get that?"

I was in the back seat. He was riding shotgun. He was infinitely closer than me. "Don't be a jerk."

"I'm a wanted criminal. A dead wanted criminal."

The officer pounded on the window.

"You can glamour him."

"And you can hear his thoughts."

"I'll give you until five." The officer called, pulling out his gun. "One—"

Eric grabbed my wrist. My skin tingled at his touch. "Find out why he's here before I make him go away."

"Two—"

"Who sent him?" Eric tightened his grip on my wrist. There was something raw in his voice—anger, uncertainty. _I don't know how deep Victor's plan goes_, he'd told Pam. He hated being at a disadvantage. For that matter, so did I.

"Hold your horses," I called, making the officer stumble halfway through three. As I clambered into the front seat, Eric steadied me. "Back me up." I didn't need to say it. I knew he would. "And text Sam. Tell him to stay in the house."

"Don't have his number."

"Three—"

I chucked Eric my cell. He caught it one-handed.

"Four—"

"His number's under Sam. Don't snoop." Not that there was anything for him to see.

The cop's voice cracked. "I said four. I'm serious—"

As Eric started thumbing through my contacts, I rolled down the window.

"Hi." I caught the policeman just about to yell five. I was shocked at how young he was: he had to be about nineteen, at most, a baby-faced twenty. I gave him my best gimme-tips grin. "What can I do you for?"

He poked his head in the window, eyeing Eric. "What's going on in there?"

"Just figuring out this dohicky." I cranked the window up and down, hoping he would think I was stupid. It worked.

Lies were easier when you were underestimated.

The cop cleared his throat. "You folks seen Sam Merlotte?"

That hadn't been what I expected. I figured he was after Eric. Even Eric seemed surprised when he heard Sam's name: he stopped texting.

I played dumb. "Sam who?"

"Listen, cutie, I don't recognize your face and this town don't get visitors. I have it on good word Sam rolled in yesterday. I can connect dots."

I thought fast. "I'm here for Deidra's wedding."

"Sam is Craig's brother."

I shrugged. "Don't know him."

"But you know Deidra?"

"We're second cousins."

"You don't look like family."

Shit. Deidra's father was Indian or Middle Eastern or something. I hadn't been able to understand his thoughts when we met around noon.

"Cousins twice removed." The cop's eyes narrowed. I'd blown it, but for I kept going. Might as well fail spectacularly. "Adopted cousins. " My eyes fixed on the bumper of what could only be Deidra's dad's truck, parked in front of us. He had two stickers: an American flag and a Jesus fish. "We're cousins in Christ. Our Daddys went to the same parish as kids."

And God was I ever lucky, because that was the magic lie. Thank goodness bible thumpers were always happy to meet another convert because my story softened the cop right up. He gave me a big old smile. "Praise be."

"Remy and I are just married," I clapped Eric on the shoulder, because I had to explain his presence somehow. Eric nodded at the cop from the shadows. The cop thought _strong, silent_ and thankfully not _vampire_. I couldn't believe he was swallowing my schlock. "We're meeting Deidra in Vegas for the wedding."

"You know if Sam's going?"

"I said I don't know Sam." I'd been so busy creating lies I hadn't had time to dip into the cop's thoughts. I reached out, trying to flip under the surface of his mind. He wasn't easy to read, but luckily the mention of Sam gave me flashes: I saw Sam's blue truck in a grainy black and white video.

The image was enough to lurch me out of his mind. Jesus: the gas station where I shot the biker had a surveillance camera. They'd caught Sam's license plates.

The cop leaned close. "Miss, you okay?"

Gravel crunched behind the car. Footsteps.

Shit.

"Paul, what's up?"

It was Sam, holding a box full of whatever wedding gifts Deidra's mom passed along.

Paul—the cop—moved almost as quick as a vampire in snatching his gun and training it on Sam. "Hands on your head."

There was no way in hell Sam was getting arrested on my watch. Especially when I was the one who'd committed the crime Paul wanted him for. I threw open the car door, catching Paul in the gut. He doubled over. Sam dropped Deidra's box and dived for Paul's gun, but I was closer. I launched myself onto Paul. I covered his eyes with one hand and started scrabbling for his pistol with the other. He was stronger, but I'd just had vampire blood and wasn't above using my nails. I got purchase on Paul's pistol and held it aloft, but then, I heard a click.

"Drop it." It was Richard, Deidra's father. He'd snuck out of their house in the scuffle to train a rifle on Sam.

"You set me up." I was surprised that Sam didn't seem more surprised. He'd been cordial with Richard earlier today. Things must have gotten ugly between their families during the shifters' revelation to make a turnaround like this seem par for the course.

"You committed a crime," Richard said. "Your whole family's no good." I was angry on Sam's behalf. "Paul called me when the report came in. Asked me where I could find Sam Merlotte."

"Not very Christian," I said, "betraying family."

"Not very Christian, turning into a dog." Richard had a mean look. "And he's not family yet." Sam said Deidra's parents had been uncomfortable with the shifter thing but Richard's reaction took unsettled a absurd level.

I was still sitting on Paul the cop. He mumbled and I caught a flash of Eric in his head. He was going to warn Richard. "Don't you dare." I pointed his pistol at him. Paul stared at me like I had two heads, but the gun shut him up quick.

It also ended up being a mistake, because Richard turned his rifle from Sam to me. Shit. Sam could turn into a bird or something and escape the Mexican standoff, but I would be stuck taking a bullet.

Where was Eric? I was sick of gunplay. Whatever he was doing—sulking, texting, deleting ex-boyfriends out of my cell contacts—it was not an acceptable reason for being MIA.

"I told you to drop the gun." Richard nudged the rifle at me.

"Rich, this is between us." Sam tried to defuse the situation.

Richard didn't look up from the sights. "Find a gun, son, and we'll talk."

I really didn't want to let go of the pistol. But I didn't have much choice, most of all because I was playing a big bluff: there was no way I would actually blow Paul the cop's brains out. As much as I didn't want Sam to get arrested, Paul was just doing his job. From the little I'd heard of his thoughts, he seemed like a normal, decent guy. Backstabbing father-of-the-bride Richard was another story.

Paul squirmed underneath me. "You let us go and it will be okay," I said. "No arrests."

I had to admire Paul's gumption, staring into the barrel of his own gun. "No. Drop the weapon."

"Yes. Drop it." Richard piggybacked. He cocked his rifle. I was afraid he would actually shoot. His thoughts were almost as snarly as a shifter: angry.

Where the hell was Eric?

I held up Paul's gun to show Richard I wasn't pointing it at anyone anymore. Then I dropped it far enough away Paul couldn't reach it without throwing me off of him.

As soon as the gun was out of my hand, Paul shouted, "There's another one in the car."

If I were Eric I would have taken that as my dramatic entrance line. But nothing. No movement. The Lincoln was still.

For the first time, I got worried. Our fight hadn't been so bad Eric would abandon me, right? He loved me. We loved each other. I knew Eric didn't care for Sam, but I didn't think he'd let him get arrested.

But the car was still. Potentially empty. I wanted to peer through the front door to check on Eric but that would have required getting off of Paul.

"Come out of there," Richard shouted, training his gun on the car.

"Careful," Paul said. "He's a big guy."

"I'll shoot," Richard threatened.

Nothing.

I exchanged a look with Sam. He stared at me hard and thought about changing into a big cat of some kind- lion, panther- but I shook my head. If Sam attacked, chances were one of us would take a bullet. Eric's tardiness made me nervous, but I couldn't believe he'd leave us.

"I said come out," Richard shouted and shot out of the Lincoln's front tires. The noise made me jump. Air whooshed out, groaning like a whoopee cushion, and the front half of the car slumped towards the ground.

Richard stepped closer to the car, pointing the rifle into the yawning door. "Don't be a hero, son."

Eric was neither my hero nor Richard's son, but I prayed he had something up his sleeve. My heart was pounding as Richard neared the front door. I wasn't so much worried about Eric getting shot, although that wasn't the ideal outcome, as much as the chance he wouldn't be there. Eric always had a plan— I hoped his plan this time included us.

God. He and I were so messed up. I went from semi-hating him one moment to counting on him for survival the next. I resolved to apologize, if we got out of this, and work towards finding a balance. I was sick of hot and cold. I needed something steady. Something to count on. I wanted it to be him.

Richard's feet crunched on the gravel driveway. He took a step forward, then another, and the barrel of his rifle scraped the door of the Lincoln—

There was a rush of air, then Richard wasn't standing: he was horizontal, cowboy boots hanging out the driver's side door. I heard a crunching noise. A muffled yell—and Richard's feet disappeared inside the car.

Dinnertime. Ew.

But, on the other hand, thank god.

"Vampire," Paul screamed. "Holy shit, vampire." From his thoughts, I knew Eric was the first he'd ever seen.

I felt safe enough knowing Eric was still around, I jumped off Paul and raced to the car door. The scene was what I imagined. Eric had Richard in his lap pieta-style and was glugging blood out of his neck. Richard moaned. His eyes had rolled back into his head, showing whites.

"Don't kill him," I said.

Eric glared at me. Good. He wasn't so far gone on bloodlust he couldn't understand me.

Of course, he kept drinking.

I sighed. "Eric, I'm sorry about earlier." Then the quid pro quo: "Just, please, listen to me. Don't kill him."

I didn't like that Eric attacked Richard when he could have resolved the situation with less violence, but I couldn't blame him. On one level, this is who he was. He drank blood. And although it might be gross, disturbing, cruel- in attacking Richard, Eric had protected me. And after the way Richard had treated Sam, part of me felt like he deserved a scare, although not a mauling and certainly not death. Eric had to know better. He needed to stop. I'd convince him however I could.

Eric looked at me again. He look a last draw, then, with a click, drew his fangs out of Richard's neck. Richard whimpered. Eric's mouth was bloody. It dripped down onto his white T-shirt. He'd never looked more monstrous.

"Good," he said, slow, as if rediscovering language. Then, "I'm sorry too."

And I'm sorry to be gushy, but even under the circumstances, the two little words felt magical. My heart picked up—I couldn't think of the last time he'd said sorry to me, unqualified, straight out. It was super-gross and there was an injured man moaning on the dashboard, but part of me wanted to crawl into the car and kiss him.

I heard a "Watch out" behind me—Sam—and spun around just in time to collide with Paul. My head hurt from the impact, then Paul's hands closed around my neck. I tried to claw him but I felt cold metal against my head: the gun. I stilled. "Close your eyes, Rich," Paul yelled, "close your goddamn eyes or the vamp will zap you."

By zap, he meant glamour. I assume Paul had his eyes screwed shut, because otherwise Eric would have him neutralized, forgetting he'd ran into any of us. Paul also couldn't see that Richard was beyond speech right now.

"Rich?" Paul called out.

Richard moaned.

"Put him in my car," Paul said. He jammed the gun into my temple. "Put him in the cruiser."

"You threatening a civilian?" I heard Sam behind us. He thought he could reason with Paul. I tried to keep my breathing steady as Paul ground the gun barrel into my temple. Eric met my eyes and gave me a little nod. He was saying it would be okay.

"I'm saving a good man's life," Paul said. I heard in his thoughts he was terrified for Richard. "Put him in the car." His voice cracked.

"Eric, do it." I said. I also didn't want Richard to die and it was an easy thing to appease Paul. If we could get Richard in the cop car, maybe we could maneuver Paul into driving him to the nearest hospital without arresting Sam. Also, it would be nice if I didn't get shot in the head.

Eric didn't blink or, for that matter, listen to me. Pushing Richard onto the floor of the Lincoln, he slid to the front of the vehicle and picked up Richard's discarded rifle. Then, instead of pointing the rifle at Paul, like I expected, Eric fixed it on Sam. "Turn yourself in, Sam."

"Eric, don't you dare." The words were out of my mouth before I could think. How was this going to help? There was no way I was letting Sam leave in handcuffs.

Eric turned to Paul. "Sam goes with you. The girl and I get away." Behind me, Paul hesitated. Eric cocked the weapon. I heard it, so I knew Paul could too. "You're not in a position to negotiate."

"Eric, stop." He was crazy if he thought I'd let him trade away Sam's freedom for a crime I'd committed.

Eric shot me a venomous look, then refocused on Sam. "Turn yourself in. It's over." For some reason, Eric jerked his head at Paul. "Open your eyes."

It took Eric's nod to Paul, but Sam and I cottoned onto Eric's plan at the same time. Paul couldn't arrest Sam—or get in his car, for that matter—without opening his eyes. As soon as he did, Eric would glamour him. Sam smiled and nodded—he couldn't laugh because Paul would hear—but he gave Eric what I could only describe as a grateful look. "Fine," Sam said, in a loud stagey voice. He'd obviously skipped high school drama class. "You leave me no choice."

I struggled against Paul for show. "I hate you," I yelled at Eric. "Don't do this."

Eric turned his rifle from Sam to Paul. He made a sour face, obviously a poor review of our acting.

Paul, eyes screwed shut, was thankfully unaware. "Get in the car," he yelled to Sam. "You," he said in the general vicinity of Eric, "bring Rich."

Sam walked over to the vehicle, opened the back door, then slammed it shut without getting inside. After I gave him a pleading look, Eric fulfilled his end of the bargain. He scooped up Richard's limp body and carried it towards the cop car. I was relieved to see Richard's chest rising and falling. I saw Sam pale as Eric pushed Richard into the cruiser's back seat. Richard's throat was covered in blood.

"He's in." I told Paul. "They both are. Let me go."

Paul didn't trick that easy. "Take me to the car."

What if he tried to take me with him? "Why? You've got what you came for."

"Guide me," he said—jamming the gun into my temple. I stumbled and nearly fell. My pulse double-timed.

The walk was slow going. I had to crabwalk sideways with Paul clinging to my back like an unwelcome papoose. Eric and Sam closed in as I led Paul to his cruiser. Eric still had Richard's rifle, even though he really didn't need it.

When we reached Paul's car I grabbed his left hand—the one that wasn't pointing the gun at me—and he jumped. But then I put his fingers on the car's cool aluminum hood. "We're here," I said. "Sam's in back. Let me go." I stared at Eric. That was his cue. It was glamour time.

Then, I heard a crack.

I can only describe it as the loudest noise I'd heard or even imagined. I was on my knees before I realized it was a gunshot. Next to my head. My ears rang. I clapped a hand to the side of my face. It came away bloody. Jesus. Paul had shot me. I was dead.

"Get in the car!" Paul yelled. I looked up in time to see him pointing the pistol at me. But he was talking to Sam. I saw Sam look at me, look at the gun, then without any other choice, he ducked in Paul's backseat, pushing Richard's limp body out of the way.

"Stop," I screamed, then realized if I was screaming, I couldn't be dead. I was on my knees. Eric was on the ground. I put my hand to the side of my face again. More blood. Shooting pain. My eardrum was busted. Paul hadn't shot me. He'd shot Eric. Jesus Christ.

Tires screeching, Paul pulled off the curb. I crawled to Eric's body as Paul's headlights disappeared around the bend.


	13. Eye Opener

There was a hole between Eric's eyes. His face was slack. He looked dead. Really dead. Finally dead.

Paul had shot him in the head.

My heart stopped and, for a second, I thought Eric was gone. He looked still, like it was his morning rest.

Then, I thought of _Dawn of the Dead._

Jason dragged me to that stupid movie at the Monroe mall a few years back. Movie theaters were tough for me because of all the thoughts, but I'd manned up when Jason lied and said George Clooney was starring. At the time, I'd been horrified by the blood and guts, but now I could imagine watching it with a sort of professional interest. Survival strategies never went out of style.

_Dawn of the Dead_ taught me to kill zombies with a blow to the brain. As I knew from personal experience, vampires succumbed to a stake in the chest. I had to worry about the heart, not the head. Eric was shot in the head, therefore Eric would be fine. And even then, the zombie-head-thing was only in movies because zombies didn't exist. Hopefully. I had yet to meet one. And I was fine with that. More than fine.

I was also delirious. Or so I thought. Maybe. I couldn't concentrate. My ear rang. Buzzed. Paul's shot blew out my eardrum. It didn't really hurt. More throbbed. Stung. Maybe I was in shock. I pressed my wrist against Eric's lips, but my thoughts turned to Paul. He was a smart cop. He'd stalled us and neutralized the biggest threat. Too bad he wasn't on our side.

"Jesus, Eric, wake up." I shook him, but his head lolled on the pavement. My heart thumped fast—fear. Eric couldn't be dead. I took a deep breath and told myself it was a matter of seconds before the bullet worked its way out of his brain and he came to. "Come on, baby. Hurry."

We had to find Sam. I was not letting him go to jail. Paul's taillights were long gone, but if we jumped in the Lincoln and gunned it, I hoped Eric could glamour Paul out of his wits and Sam out of the Texas state pen.

I glanced at our car. It was lopsided. I wondered if my vision had gone wacky, then remembered Richard had shot out one of our tires. Shit. We couldn't drive. We weren't going anywhere. And Eric still wasn't moving. Damn it.

Then it hit me: Eric needed an eye-opener.

As I looked for something to cut myself with, a wet trickle on my neck reminded me of my busted eardrum. I dabbed the side of my face and was relieved—yes, relieved, welcome to my world—when my fingers came away bloody. Feeling like a horrorshow nursemaid, I peeled back Eric's lips and stuck my bloody fingers in his mouth.

He was still. I waited. Wiggled my fingers. He stirred. Started to suck.

I held back from throwing my arms around his neck and possibly causing worse damage. He didn't want to let my fingers go, but I was able to weasel my hand out of his mouth and dab my ear again to give him a fresh dose.

He mumbled, but I couldn't understand. I leaned close. "What, baby?"

He muttered again—incomprehensible—and I realized the shot damaged his brain, which was in the process of knitting itself back together as the bullet worked its way to the surface. In the meantime, Eric couldn't make words. If I were a scientist, I would have been fascinated. Thank god a PhD had never seen anything like this, or vampires would be lab rats forever—different parts of the brain damaged to see the effects and healing process. That was only if the science nerds could keep vampires chained down, of course.

Metal glinted at the tip of Eric's wound. Then, the bullet clinked out of his head. Hit the asphalt. I picked it up as his forehead knit back together.

He mumbled again. This time, it sounded like my name. I leaned close. "What is it?"

"I said 'suck it,'" he muttered, voice scratchy. "Before it heals."

I laughed. I was so relieved. "Too late." I flashed the bullet at him. "Fool me once, you stupid ass." I felt fond, thinking about our past exploits with bullets. He must have remembered too, because he pulled me into a steaming kiss. Quick recovery. Of course sex would be his first move. I'd be a liar if I said I minded.

I pulled away, breathing hard. "I'm glad you're alive." Eric growled and nipped the side of my neck. Playful. I hated to turn us back to business, but the clock was ticking. "Eric, the cop took Sam—"

Eric ignored me. He kissed the side of my face then, tasting blood, perked up and pulled me back for another. Eric kissed my ear, lingering on the lobe and licking it clean. I shivered. His ministrations went straight to a place I don't talk about in polite company. "Gross." I swatted at him, but he caught my wrist.

"You're hurt."

"No time. Sam's on his way to prison." For a crime I'd committed.

Eric, not listening, sunk his fangs into his wrist. It crunched. When his blood welled to the surface, I felt a pull deep in my gut. The bond. The longing was so intense it creeped me out. I was a person, not a vampire. I didn't used to be like this. What was happening to me?

He offered me his wrist.

I shook my head. "No time."

"Don't be stubborn."

This coming from Mr. Stubborn. Eric "Stubborn" Northman. Eric: old enough to have invented stubborn. But I knew he could out-stubborn me, or at least give me a run for my money. An argument would cost time we didn't have. "I'll do it if we go after Sam. Immediately."

Eric just stared at me, which was not a good sign.

His silence gave me time to think of another out: he'd been wounded. "Are you okay?" As soon as I vocalized, I stared worrying. I mentioned Eric's injury as an excuse, but he had been shot in the head. That was serious. It would have killed anyone but a vampire. "Do you need me to—" I unbuttoned my blouse. I didn't want to waste time on a blood exchange, but I wouldn't let him suffer needlessly.

"No. You're hurt." He buttoned my blouse closed. For the first time ever. "I can wait. I'll eat before dawn."

I looked at his wrist, dripping blood he needed and blood that I didn't really want. "You're hurt too. Eric, I'm okay."

While we gabbed, his wound closed. He bit again. "Drink." I sealed my lips as he pushed it towards me. "I'll keep this up until you do."

I knew he'd make good on his threat, so in the interest of time, I latched on and took a few gulps. Warmth spread through me and I felt almost tingly. My ear started buzzing and then, suddenly, it felt normal. I dropped Eric's wrist.

He looked woozy.

"You okay?"

"No. I was shot," he said, touching his forehead where the bullet had gone in. "It hurts." Then, as if he were trying to show how macho he was, he struggled to his feet. "I'll live."

I offered my wrist. "Let me—"

Eric cut me off. "The sooner you find your pet puppy, the sooner I eat." Then he grabbed me by the waist and shot into the air.

We were moving faster than the quickest car I'd ever ridden in. The wind whipped my face. My eyes teared. I know it's not super ladylike, but I wanted nothing more than to pee my pants and make peace with the good lord.

I screamed expletives I won't share with you. "Put me down," is the G-rated version.

"Sookie. Calm down." Eric scooped up my feet so I was more Lois Lane and less sack-of-potatoes. It helped. "Think. There's a reason your government invests in spy planes."

Where did that come from? "What? And it's your government too." Eric had an American passport. I knew because he'd burned it to fake his own death. Not because we'd gone on vacation or anything. That would be too normal.

"I mean human government—" Eric began and I tuned him out. The last thing I needed was a convoluted lecture where he said mildly offensive things about humanity. Instead, I made the genius move of looking down at the street. The cars were the size of my fist. If he dropped me I'd go splat like a garbage bag of Thanksgiving gizzards. I shut my eyes, but imagined the fall on the back of my lids. Figuring Eric's lecture would be more tolerable than death dreams, I started listening again, just in time. "—See things from the air," Eric was saying. "Like that."

I shut my eyes and screamed as we dived bombed to the street.

The first thing I heard was roaring. Then I noticed a cruiser—Paul's—run aground on the curb. As soon as Eric's feet hit the cement, I scrambled out of his arms. I peered through the front window of the car and saw something I'd never expect in a thousand years:

Paul was in the front seat, hollering bloody murder, while a lion hissed at him behind the suspect's cage.

Sam.

"Your friend can take care of himself," Eric declared. He smiled.

After years of animosity with Sam, this is what won him over. I rolled my eyes. Eric loved mayhem. "Right. Because a lion in a police car isn't going to attract attention."

Eric shrugged. "Not in handcuffs, is he?" Then he walked over and rapped on the front window. Paul looked up, startled, and Eric glamored him.

I let out the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding and let myself hope it would be okay.

"Step out of the vehicle," Eric said. Paul did. He put his hands on the top of the cruiser without being asked. Proper cop etiquette. Eric shot me a smirk. Meanwhile, in the back seat, the lion dissolved into a naked Sam who started pawing for his clothes.

"Did you call this in?" Eric asked Paul.

"No. I pulled out of the driveway and Merlotte was this big cat—"

"Sookie," Sam yelled from the backseat as he zipped up his jeans. I tried to keep my eyes north of the border, but might have snuck a peek. Sue me. "Get over here."

Sam never ordered. Something was up.

As Eric told Paul, "We were never here," I raced to Sam. He had Richard's head in his lap. Richard was breathing, but bleeding out. I unlocked the door through the front window and slid into the back next to Sam. I took Richard's head in my lap as Sam bundled his T-shirt against his torn throat. Blood began to seep through the rough cotton.

I leaned out of the window. "Eric, hurry up."

Mr. Sensitive gave shot me a 'shut up' look. He was muttering to Paul, inaudible.

"He saw Sam's security video," I yelled to Eric. "Wipe that too." Although a lot of good it would do if the Texas police had linked Sam to the biker's murder.

Sam grabbed my wrist. "Security video?"

"Gas station had a camera. Caught your truck's plates. In Tyler, when I—" Shot the biker. I couldn't say it. I felt like a coward.

"Sam Merlotte lent his truck to a friend a week ago," Eric said to Paul. He pitched his voice louder so we could hear. "You confirmed with the Shreveport police."

This was ridiculous. What happened if Paul's sergeant actually called the Shreveport PD? "Eric—"

He waved me silent. "You spoke to Detective Lopez in Shreveport. Understand?"

"Detective Lopez." Paul repeated, eyes glazed. He sounded like a kid in kindergarten.

"She interviewed Sam. He lent his truck to a friend. Victor Madden of New Orleans."

Victor's name stopped me cold. I was all for blaming him with everything plus the kitchen sink, but this seemed hurried. Why would Sam- or any reasonable person- loan out their primary vehicle? I sure hoped Eric knew what he was doing.

Paul nodded. "Say it back to me," Eric said as Richard groaned.

"Victor Madden has Sam's truck," Paul parroted.

"Eric—" My lap was getting wet. Richard's blood.

Misinterpreting my concern, Eric shot exposition over his shoulder. "Detective Lopez is Pam's human. SWAT team." That was enough to jog my memory: when we burned the biker's corpse, Eric told us about Pam's policewoman honey. They met at a lesbian gym. Convenient that she worked for the Shreveport PD. Eric made Pam date Amelia: I wondered if her new romance was likewise practical.

"Shit," Sam said as Richard shuddered. He had bled through Sam's T-shirt. Honestly, sharing a backseat with a lion probably hadn't helped stabilize Richard's injury, but this situation was so messed up I wasn't about to start slinging blame.

Still on Detective Lopez and unaware of the drama in the backseat, Eric leered at me and said, "Combine business with pleasure."

I think Eric meant to be flirty, but his comment rubbed me wrong. Not only because there was a dying man in my lap who Eric mauled—yes, I'll use that word, even though it's usually reserved for wild animals— but it always pissed me off when he mentioned me in the same breath as business. After Bill, any insinuations that I was an asset sat too close for comfort. I knew Eric was being his practical self with the business and pleasure quip, but it still stung.

"Richard needs a hospital," I said, harsher than I would have if I wasn't mad. Then, I slipped and got mean: "We've got one corpse too many."

I regretted the comment soon as it slid out of my mouth, but when Eric gave me a sharp look, I couldn't help but glower back.

On cure, Richard groaned and wiggled against me. "Eric, he's got to go to a hospital."

"The nearest's in Lubbock," Sam piggybacked. "Forty minutes."

"He's not going to make it." It wasn't a medical opinion, but I'd seen a lot of dying people and Richard looked well on the road.

Eric obviously couldn't care less. "Call a doctor." He turned to Paul. "You have a phone?"

His nonchalance pissed me off. "A stethoscope's not going to cut it."

Sam backed me up. "He needs an ER." It was nice to have an ally.

There was something Eric could do that would make all this hospital and doctor talk unnecessary. But he wasn't offering. I knew giving blood was a huge step for a vampire—a big boundary rarely crossed—but Eric had forced blood on me for my ear and I hadn't even been close to dying. Richard was minutes from leaving the world. I didn't feel right asking Eric to give blood to a man he didn't know, who would have shot him without a second thought. But I knew if I couldn't live with myself if I kept quiet. Richard might be a creep, but he didn't deserve death.

I looked at Eric. He stared at me. I knew he knew what I was thinking, but his face was blank. In lock-down. It was almost as if he was challenging me- to what, I wasn't sure.

I mustered my courage. "Eric—" I started, then Sam cut me off.

"How fast do you fly?"

_**First half of a much longer chapter. I was originally going to post the whole caboodle, but figured I'd slice it in two in the interest of posting before Christmas. Many thanks for your reviews, kind words and insights. I really enjoy your feedback: it always makes me think about the story and characters in new ways. **_

_**Vegas is up soon. If any of you know the town, I'd really appreciate it if you could drop me any details in the reviews or PM. I'm a southerner, so I feel pretty at home in Louisiana, but am trying to figure out a feel for the west.**_

_**As always, this belongs to Charliane and HBO. **_

_**Thanks and happy holidays!**_


	14. The Right Thing

Sam asked Eric to fly Richard to the nearest hospital, forty miles away in Lubbock. And Eric said yes, without protest or questions. He just nodded, walked over to the backseat, and slung Richard over his shoulder.

I was gobsmacked. Eric never stuck his neck out for anyone except Pam, Area 5's vamps, and— lately— me. I was almost proud of him, emphasis on almost. Uneasiness cut my pride: Eric could cure Richard without going to Lubbock. If Eric gave Richard blood, he would save his life.

I was on the verge of asking Eric to do it, but stopped myself. It wasn't my place. I hated it when vampires forced me to use my telepathy: I needed control over my life. Eric's blood was similar. Only he should decide whom he healed. I also didn't want to expose Eric. Vampires were understandably secretive about V's healing properties. I wasn't sure Sam knew.

But my uneasiness wasn't about vampire blood generally— it was about Eric in particular. Eric could care less about people he didn't know. He'd force blood on me for a busted eardrum, but he wouldn't think to help a dying stranger.

Was it unfair of me to blame Eric for not acting as I hoped he would? Probably. I hadn't asked him to give Richard blood. But I also felt that I shouldn't have to. I hated that he hadn't thought of it himself.

I looked up to find Eric staring at me. He could probably feel my discomfort through the bond. I forced a smile. The hospital run was the next best thing. It was a big step for Eric. He needed positive reinforcement.

I could wish him different all I wanted, but I had to live with the reality. Eric shouldn't have attacked Richard, but at least he was cleaning up his own mess. Thanks to Sam's suggestion, he was trying to save a life. Not dispose of a body—which is what he would do if left to his own devices.

Body disposal was yesterday. And in that case, I'd killed the corpse.

I needed to get off my high horse.

I sighed. Sam shot me a concerned look. "You okay?"

I nodded. Lied. "Fine. Thanks." I jogged to Eric and stood on my tiptoes to kiss him. Positive reinforcement. "Be safe." Mad as I was, Eric was doing the right thing, considering who he was.

Eric met me halfway. He tangled his fingers in my hair. I tried to enjoy our kiss, but got distracted by Richard's head, swinging inches from mine. Eric had slung him over his shoulder like a sack of feed.

I broke the kiss. "Cradle him." Eric looked confused, so I mimed it. "Like a baby." Eric stared at me—whether he felt indulgent or pissed, I couldn't tell—but at least he obliged. Richard bounced as Eric shifted him to a Lois Lane-position, so I steadied him. "There." Richard exhaled: the rise and fall of his chest made me feel better.

When I stepped away, Eric was watching me. His face was expressionless. That usually meant a whole lot was going on inside- and that he didn't want to talk about it. I wished he'd tell me what was bothering him. If we were alone, he might. But there was no hope with Sam around. Even so, I tried. "What is it?"

Eric turned to Sam as if he hadn't heard me. Typical evasive maneuver. Fine. I'd find out eventually. "Drive west. I-40." He looked back at me. "I'll find you."

I had no doubts. The bond was a built-in homing device. It usually complicated things. For once, it might make life easier. He turned to go. "Eric—"

He stopped. Stared at me.

"Thank you."

He was doing the right thing.

Eric nodded— stiff— then took off. He moved so fast, my hair blew into the air like I'd been hit by a fan.

"Richard better make it." Flying with Eric was a bumpy ride.

Sam patted my shoulder. "Think positive."

Behind us, a horn honked. Paul. He leaned out the front window. "You coming or what?"

Eric had glamoured Paul to chauffer us back to the damaged Lincoln. Sam was certain there was a spare tire in the trunk. "Eric could have used it as a pillow," he said as we slid into the back seat. It was a rare moment of sarcasm.

I swatted him and tried not to laugh. "Stop. How would you like sleeping in a trunk?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm not a vampire."

As Paul pulled off the curb, I scanned the sky for Eric. He was long gone.

Paul dropped us at Richard's house and drove off. Our Lincoln still sat lopsided against the lawn, one tire blown out. Sam and I changed it quick. I manned the jack while Sam slid alongside the Lincoln and worked the wrench. Afterwards, I ruffled through my overnight bag to find an old T-shirt we could use to clean the motor oil off ourselves. When I found one, Sam was halfway down the curb, kneeling near what looked like an open box.

I walked over to him and peered over his shoulder. The box held a couple bottles of champagne and a pretty wedding cake topped with a plastic bride and groom. It must have been the package Richard asked him to pick up. Sam had dropped a box when Paul pulled his gun.

"Richard said they ordered it ahead of time. Asked me to bring it to Vegas," Sam said. "Guess it was a ploy."

"Doesn't mean Craig and Deidra can't enjoy it," I said. He looked really glum so I put my arm around his shoulders. "Come on, let's get it in the car." Activity was the enemy of doldrums.

Sam took one end of the box and I shouldered the other. It wasn't too heavy, but I liked the teamwork aspect of carrying it together. We pushed the box into the back seat. I stole one last look at the cake as we slammed the door. It was beautiful. The kind of thing I'd like to have one day. "You think she's in on it?"

"Who? Deidra?" I nodded as Sam slid into the drivers' seat. I took shotgun. "No. She's sweet." He looked like he was going to say more, but he stopped himself. "Well. You'll see when you meet her."

I hated to say it, but, "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"You meeting Deidra?"

"Either of us. I don't want to tell you what to do, but that cop was after you—"

"Eric took care of it."

"Depends if his Shreveport story sticks."

"It's going to have to depend." Sam pulled the Lincoln off the curb. "I'm not letting my brother down."

I leaned my head against the window and watched the flat houses whiz by. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

"Stop blaming yourself, Sookie." Sam flashed me a smile. "Think positive."

Was this his new mantra? "Think positive? Have we lived through the same week?" Almost everything that could go wrong did. I was starting to feel like Job.

Sam shrugged. "Lived is the key word."

Fine. We weren't dead. Yet. "I'll give you that one."

We pulled onto open road. The lights of Wright dimmed behind us.

I fished a Hertz highway map out of the glove compartment and plotted our course to Las Vegas. It was a straight shot west on I-40—across Texas, New Mexico and Arizona to Nevada's southern tip—where we'd leave the interstate and swerve up to Sin City. All told, the trip was 800 miles. A full day's drive.

"Eric's spending tomorrow in a trunk," I said as I shut the map.

"That's why he got the Lincoln town car," Sam said. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel: he was agitated. "Hate to complain, but I feel like a gangster driving this. I miss my truck."

"You'll get it back." Even as I said it, I knew it was far from a sure thing. If the police didn't confiscate Sam's truck, Eric wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice it as part of some master plan.

I could tell that Sam didn't buy it, but he smiled anyway. "Nice of you to say."

"I believe it." I didn't, but I wanted to pretend for Sam's sake. "You'll be back in Bon Temps in no time. Using your trunk for baseball bats, not vampires."

Sam nodded and stared out the window. I could feel his thoughts bubbling. I probably shouldn't have brought up vampires. Those conversations never led anywhere good. Even so, I'd rather hear it out loud than in his head. "Spit it out."

"You said you wanted a weekend without vampires," Sam said.

Great. So it was one of those talks. "Did I?"

"Before we started this trip. In the parking lot after Little League."

I didn't remember exactly, but it sounded like something I would say. "So I jinxed us."

"No," Sam said. "But I don't understand how you keep— it's always the next thing, isn't it? On vacation there will be no vampires. Or when we go back to Bon Temps. Or when you break up with Bill."

"Eric," I corrected. I really regretted starting this. Sam sounded jealous. I'd be ecstatic if the two of us never had another conversation about my relationship with Eric.

"Bill first. Now Eric." He gunned the accelerator. "They're not going away, Sookie."

"Do you think I want them to?" Who was Sam to criticize my love life? I wasn't voicing every snide comment about Jannalynn that crossed my mind. "Are you jealous?"

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, like he always did when he was frustrated. "No," he said. Then sighed. "He almost killed Richard—"

I didn't want to hear it. "I know."

"Just ripped his throat out—"

"I know."

"You deserve better." Sam said. "That's all." Then he turned on the radio and cranked the volume loud.

I punched the mute button before I could think better of it. "Jannalynn is Alcide's enforcer."

Sam glared at me. "What's that's supposed to mean?"

"Glass houses," I said and cranked up the radio.

My ears burned as I half-listened to Delilah After Dark introduce a little something for the lovers listening. "Time of My Life" came on. Sam looked at me and turned up the volume, even though I knew he hated that type of music.

I was mad at myself for stooping to the low blow: criticizing Sam about Jannalynn was no better than every time he ribbed me about Eric. And I hated that I'd implied Eric was the same as Jannalynn. He was worth ten of her. Ten thousand. He was brave and reckless and loved with an intensity that scared me. Maybe he wasn't always good, but I hoped he could be. I hoped he'd try.

"He's taking Richard to the hospital," I said, turning down the radio. I needed to defend Eric, to Sam or myself, I wasn't sure.

"You think he'd go if I hadn't asked him?"

No. "Maybe."

"Sookie—"

I felt something hot on my cheeks and realized I was crying. I wiped it away with the back of my hand. I didn't want Sam to see.

Too late. His voice softened. "Sookie."

"I love him." My voice sounded strangled. I hated it. "He's more than how he acts sometimes. I just know it."

"Fine," Sam said. He drummed his fingers on the wheel again. I could feel something thrumming in his thoughts and braced myself. "Think about that next time you mention Jannalynn."

He cranked up the radio and I let him. I put my head against the window and watched telephone poles fly past.

I got more exhausted as the miles clocked by and hours wound towards dawn. We were a half-day outside Las Vegas and had lost good driving time in the Mexican standoff mess. When I ran over everything that had happened in the last two days, it sounded crazy: an assassin came after Sam and me, I killed him, we transported the body 200 miles while hiding from the cops, got pulled over twice, assaulted two police officers and were the target of an all-Texas manhunt. That wasn't counting Eric's government indictment and the DEA raid on Fangtasia. Plus Eric had made Shepard Smith's show. Shep was my all-time favorite news cutie, but I was going to reevaluate if he kept talking smack about my man.

If I told anyone about the shit that had gone down—anyone other than a supe, that is—they'd think I was crazy.

I resolved to upgrade my life insurance as soon as I got home. Hunter was my beneficiary, of course. He'd need the money for his own monthly payments if vamps ever got wind of what he could do. I was going to do everything I could to make sure that never happened. No vampires knew about Hunter's disability, even Eric, although I wouldn't be surprised if he suspected something.

I dozed off and on. The sky seemed to stretch a mile wide. The stars shone brighter than I'd ever seen them, sharp pinpoints slicing the dark. I was watching constellations whorl when a roadside sign caught my eye. "Sam," I hollered. "Merge left."

He obeyed on instinct. Then looked up to see where he'd turned.

"Goddamn it, Sookie." Sam must be tired. Or still angry. He hardly ever cursed. "Eric's following I-40. You're taking us off the interstate. "

"Eric's following me," I corrected. I could feel him— far away— a tug in the back on my thoughts. As Sam pulled into the shoulder and shut off the car, I pointed at the sign ahead of us. _Grand Canyon National Park. 40 miles._ "Ever seen it?"

Sam shook his head no. "But—"

"Me neither." I'd never been west of Texas. "When's Craig expecting us?"

"Don't know anymore." Sam looked at the car clock. 2:30 am.

He looked exhausted. "Come on, take a breather. I'll drive." We weren't going to reach Vegas before dawn. Once the sun rose, it was all the same to Eric whether we got there at 7 am or past noon. He'd be shut in the trunk regardless. I wasn't too worried about Craig and Deidra occupying themselves. Newlyweds know how to pass the time.

The park was closed, so I parked the Lincoln a few tree-lengths from the front gate. Sam was asleep in the passenger seat. I thought about letting him doze, but remembered he'd never seen the canyon either. I shook him, gently as I could. "Sam?" When he didn't move, I nudged him again. "Sam."

"Sookie," he murmured, without opening his eyes. There was something sexy in the way he said my name—mouth cradling the double o. It scared me. Why couldn't things be simple?

I shook Sam again, hard this time. Maybe a little violent. His eyes shot open. I pointed out the window. "Canyon."

He nodded and I practically ran out of the car.

"Wait," he called, as I headed for the fence. I was a few lengths ahead of him. I stopped and turned, even though I really didn't want to. My arms were crossed. "Listen." He looked his feet. "You decide what's good for you. I'll be here whatever happens."

The anger ran out of me. Sam was a good man. He deserved better than Jannalynn. But of course I couldn't say that. It would ruin the moment. "Okay."

He nodded. "Okay."

I didn't get many apologies and I could always count on Sam to be man enough to give me one. I struggled to find words to capture my gratitude, finally settling on an inadequate "Thanks." I knew I owed him more. "I'll give her chance." Or I'd at least try.

That was it. Sam boosted me over the gate, then turned into Dean and wiggled under the bars. I pulled his clothes through a hole in the bottom of the fence and bundled them in my arms. We set off to find the canyon, Dean running ahead and barking at squirrels or rats, little creatures I couldn't see.

It took us five minutes to find the edge.

"Grand" wasn't the right name: it felt small, too polite. The canyon sprawled. It reminded me of the Gulf or the Mississippi. It stretched far as I could see— the other side out of reach. Sam shifted into a hawk and spun loop-de-loops over the edge. I couldn't read his emotions as easily as Eric's, but I felt his glee anyway. My heart beat faster as I watched him dive and glide over the canyon. I even laughed.

It was a good detour.

Dean and I were cuddled up on a park bench overlooking the canyon when I heard a crunch on the gravel behind us. Warmth flooded me and I knew it was Eric. Even though Sam was there, a big part of me hoped Eric would curl me in his arms and kiss my neck from behind. I felt him stand over me. My skin prickled. I waited for his touch. But then he reached around my shoulder and tapped the bench with a stick. When Dean's head popped out of my lap, alert, I understood what Eric was trying to do.

"Fetch," Eric said and tossed the stick.

I grabbed Dean by the scruff of the neck. "Don't you dare." He scrabbled a little, but then got control of himself, dropping his head in my lap. I scratched him behind the ears. "Good boy."

Eric stared at us. I stared right back. "What?"

Eric turned to Dean. "I'd like ten minutes with Sookie."

That got my gall. "I'm right here. You're talking to the dog?"

I couldn't really tell because of the shadows, but I think Eric smirked. "I thought you wanted me to respect your friend." I raised an eyebrow. "I'd like ten minutes alone with you," Eric corrected. He probably felt my annoyance through the bond. I was too tired to do the run-around with him.

"Okay, boy. Scat." I swatted Dean on the rump. He whined. "Sorry. It's just ten." After another whimper, Dean jumped out of my lap. He stretched— taking his time— and circled Eric. He nosed between Eric's legs, then lifted one of his own to relieve himself on the side of the bench.

"For goodness sake." I was sick of their posturing. Stealing Eric's idea, I picked up a stick and tossed. Dean took after it like a shot. "That applies to you too," I added as Eric plopped down next to me.

He ignored my protests and draped his arm over my shoulders. "I don't like him lying on you."

"He's a dog, Eric."

"He's a clever man."

Eric was pink. He'd eaten. I stopped myself from asking whom. I didn't want to know. "Well, I don't like you attacking Richard, but we can't have everything." Eric looked away. I felt anger pulse through the bond. Good. I wanted him to feel bad. He'd almost killed a man. "Is he alive?"

"Yes." Eric said—and, in that moment, he seemed so tired my anger crumbled.

As awful as this situation was, Eric usually didn't give a rat's ass for anyone but himself. Rushing a stranger to the hospital was unprecedented. I was angry, but I reminded myself that positive reinforcement was more important than venting. "Thank you for taking him to the hospital—"

Eric cut me off. "I didn't."

That stopped me dead. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said. I didn't take him to the hospital."

I had a vision of Eric draining Richard. I pushed it out of my mind. Eric wouldn't do that.

But he was pink. He'd eaten.

He answered my unspoken question. "I gave him blood and wiped his memory."

"Why?" tumbled out before I could think. I hadn't thought Eric would heal a stranger.

Eric shrugged. "You wanted him to live."

He'd done it for me. Not because it was right to save a life. But did it matter if the end result was the same? I was too exhausted to puzzle it out. So instead I said, "Thank you," and put my head on his shoulder.

Eric ran his fingers through my hair. The bond felt strange. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was embarrassed.

_**Happy 2011!**_


	15. Kingpin

When I pulled into the Holiday Inn Las Vegas around 11:00 am, a tall figure paced in the middle of the parking lot.

"That's Craig," Sam said. Craig stared out at the highway. He didn't see us. "He's expecting the truck." Sam rolled down the passenger window. "Hey!"

I hit the brakes as Craig jogged over. He was a head taller than Sam, dressed in a baseball cap and Wranglers.

Craig surveyed the Lincoln and leaned in the window. "Who died?"

"My truck," Sam said. "Craig, meet Sookie."

I nodded and Craig smiled. "I'll wait until you're parked to shake hands."

"Where's Deidra?" Sam asked.

Craig got a dark look. "Don't know. Fixing her hair."

I could smell trouble in paradise. I tried to keep my face neutral. "How about I go park?"

"Yonder." Craig pointed to the far end of the lot. "I got ya'll the room next to ours."

Sam and I were sharing a room? Eric would be thrilled.

I parked and shut off the Lincoln. As soon as I got out of the car, Craig pulled me into a bear hug. I emerged a winded and with a taste of his thoughts: a thin woman with dark hair unzipped her dress from behind. Sliver of skin. I hoped she was Deidra.

"Congratulations," I said. "Big day's coming up?"

Craig's eyes lit up. "Big day's tonight."

My stomach nosedived. "I thought you were doing a daytime wedding."

"In the city that never sleeps?"

I shrugged. "Guess so." A night wedding complicated everything. Vampires would demand a lot, if not all, of my after-dark attention.

Craig beamed. In his thoughts, the dark-haired woman stepped out of her dress. I felt like a peeping Tom. "Great. I'll help you unload."

Eric.

I launched myself into Craig's path, barricading the trunk. "That's okay. I've only got an overnight bag—"

"Got it." Sam emerged from the backseat, holding my duffle aloft. Thank god.

Craig looked confused, but it rolled off him easy and he reached into his pocket to pull out a key. "You're in lucky 13."

Some may call 13 superstitious, but when you're in my business (e.g. staying alive) any bad omen strikes the wrong note. The room number was the cherry on top of my miserable weekend.

While I was busy feeling rotten, Sam acted like an adult. He slung my bag over his shoulder and took the key from Craig. I fell into step behind him as he pushed our room open.

The room was small and clean. It was fine, except for the fact that there was only one king-sized bed.

Eric would be over-the-moon.

Sam stared at the bed. I knew he was thinking about Eric too, because he burst out laughing. After a second, I laughed too. Craig stared at us. We must seem like lunatics. I barely cared. It had been a long drive.

"I could take a shift in that trunk," Sam said. He seemed half-serious.

Eric could get over himself. If he threw a tantrum, I'd sleep in the Lincoln. And with Victor, Felipe and the wedding happening after nightfall it wasn't as if I'd be sleeping at the hotel anyway. I found Sam's hand and squeezed it. "Don't worry about it."

"Cute," a voice said behind us. I turned around. It was a woman with dark hair, maybe the girl from Craig's thoughts. Out of his head, she looked like she was about 12. Had to be Deidra. "You've been together how long?"

It took me a second to realize she was talking about Sam and me.

"Oh we're not—"

"Just good friends," he overlapped.

I dropped his hand.

Silence. Craig and Deidra looked at each other. Craig cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry, we assumed—"

"You want another room?" Deidra asked.

Craig shot her a look. He was paying for the whole trip out of pocket. In that instant, I knew exactly how much it cost too, because he was thinking it. Craig was turning out to be quite the broadcaster. It might cause a problem.

"I'm a big girl." I set my overnight duffle at the foot of the bed. Sam shrugged and put down his own pack.

Craig shrugged too, but I could sense his relief. "Suit yourself."

Deidra seemed disappointed. It was weird. Why would she care? I wondered if it had anything to do with the trouble in paradise.

Either way, I wanted to be polite. "I'm Sookie, by the way." I shook Deidra's hand. Gran would roll over in her grave if she knew it had taken me this long to get to introductions. "I've heard so much about you."

"You too." Her shake was like a limp fish. At the touch, her thoughts flooded into mine. Craig in the shower, body blurred behind frosted glass. Sam's nice butt ran in the family. I jerked my hand away— these weren't my thoughts to see— but images kept coming:

Deidra in bed. Pajamas. Buttoned tight. Weight of him beside her. His hand on her shoulder. I really didn't want to see this. She turns over. Shrugs him off.

"Sookie, you okay?" Sam's hand on my shoulder jerked me out of Deidra's head. I shook my own head to clear it. Craig and Deidra stared at me like I was a little crazy. Well, I was acting crazy. So much for that good first impression. I had hoped Sam's family would like me. Now everything was shot to hell.

"I'm wiped from the road." I yawned for show and turned to Craig and Deidra. "And dying for a shower. Could you give us a half hour? Then maybe we can find lunch?"

Craig wondered if Sam and I were sleeping together. His eyes flicked to the neck of my shirt and lower. I endured it, until I noticed that Deidra was staring at me too. "You look real familiar," she said.

"Yeah?" A chill went down my spine. I was sure that I had never seen her before.

"Like one of those TV girls."

It hit me like a thunderclap. FOX news. Sam said they'd been running my photo.

I forced a smile. "It's the blonde hair."

"No." Deidra said and kept staring at me.

Sam—reliable Sam, wonderful Sam—smelled trouble and hustled them to the door. "Sookie's tired. We'll see you in a few."

With a glance over her shoulder, Deidra left, Craig right behind.

I sank onto the bed. "She saw me on TV." Sam drew the shades and dead-bolted the door. "What's that for? It's your own family."

"What's that for?" Sam gawked at me. "How many times have we been assaulted? Arrested?"

He had me. "Okay, okay."

"What did you see?"

I didn't know what he was talking about. "Come again?"

"What did you see?" He was angry. "When you shook Deidra's hand? Her own father wanted to arrest me—"

I stood up. "Sam. Calm down."

"You jerked away, like you'd seen something. She's against us?"

"No." I sank on to the bed. I resisted the urge to throw my head in my hands. "Calm down. This weekend's been enough to make Gandhi loose his shit." Sam had started pacing so I grabbed him by the arm and yanked him on the bed next to me. "I saw something I shouldn't have. Private relationship shit. I don't even understand it." Sam gave me a look. "And I'm not sharing."

He held up his hands: not guilty. "I didn't ask."

"I think she's fine. No thoughts about her father or arresting us or anything. _Yet_, sneered the evil voice in the back of my head.

Sam dropped his head in his hands. His thoughts were a tangled ball. Stress and worry. "I'm sorry."

I rubbed his shoulders. "Don't apologize to me. We can't be too careful."

"I need to sleep." When Sam looked up, his eyes were bloodshot. "I haven't strung three hours together since I don't know when."

"We'll nap this afternoon. Before the wedding."

Sam stared at me. "Before night falls, you mean."

"I don't know what I'm going to do." After dark, the vampires would add new decibels to my stress level.

Sam found my hand and squeezed it. "You'll do what you have to."

It felt stupid, but "I don't want Craig to hate me." I had come all this way, but the chances of me making it to an evening ceremony were less than optimal.

"You've got to look after yourself," Sam said. "Craig's not trying to kill you."

I caught sight of Sam and myself reflected in the blank television set. We looked pitiful. Shoulders hunched. Hair hanging limp. Fight beaten out of us. Then my eyes focused on the TV set itself.

"I think Deidra recognized me from the news."

"Could be."

Yesterday, Sam had been reluctant to tell me everything he'd seen on television. "What did they say about me on FOX?"

Sam ran his hands through his hair. One sign among many that he was stressed. "New Orleans police want you for questioning."

New Orleans meant Victor. I knew what I had to do.

I stood up. "Shower time."

At the bottom of my overnight bag, I found the brown hair dye I'd bought at Wal-Mart when I grabbed supplies to hide the biker's body. I headed for the bathroom.

The dye stung.

When my fifteen minutes were up, I looked in the mirror and started to cry. Yes, worse things have happened, but I loved my blonde hair. The new result was blah brown. I wouldn't be winning any beauty pageants, but hopefully I could slide under the radar. I tossed on a white sundress. I had brought clothes into the bathroom with me so I wouldn't have to change in front of Sam. When I caught a side-glance of myself in the mirror, I looked like a stranger. That was good. That was the point.

When I came out, Sam sat on the bed flipping channels. He'd changed his shirt. I sank on the bed next to him. He reached over a picked up a strand of my hair. "Different."

"Don't want anyone recognizing me from TV." As soon as this mess was over, I'd dye my hair blonde again. I stared glumly ahead at a McDonald's commercial. My stomach growled. "Lunch soon?"

"Sure thing." Sam moved to turn off the TV. But as soon as he grabbed the clicker, Eric's face flashed across the screen along with a ticker at the bottom. CNN. The DEA raid on Fangtasia started replaying for the umpteenth time.

I try to never give into hopelessness, but I was a few shades away. "We are never getting out of this." It was too big and far-reaching. Even if Eric convinced Felipe that he was innocent, how was he going to rebuild his reputation after being tarred and feathered by the national media? The next time he showed his face in Shreveport—or anywhere, for that matter—it would set off a witch-hunt. "How is this happening? Does Victor own the news?"

"I think—" Sam began, then stopped himself.

_She won't like it._

I tried to stay out of Sam's head, but he had broadcasted that thought almost as loud as Craig. "I won't like what?"

"Sookie." He made my name a reproach.

"You thought it, not me." I regretted being short with him, but I was at the end of my tether. "I'm sorry. I don't try to listen. You were thinking loud." Sam gave me a frustrated look. "So to speak. Now tell me what's on your mind. I don't care if I don't like it. Right now it's better than what I got, which is nothing and it feels rotten."

Sam took a breath. Maybe to steel himself. "There's got to be truth in the story."

I didn't know what I expected, but that sure wasn't it. I was so mad, I couldn't make words. I tried to jump off the bed—whether to run away or find something to hit him with, I wasn't sure—but he grabbed my arm.

"Now listen. There's too many witnesses. Too much evidence. You've watched the news for three minutes—I saw three hours yesterday and those poor little girls kept right on coming."

"So what? Lots of people will lie for a buck." Or they'd be glamoured.

"You can't fake tears like those," Sam said. "You know how much proof it takes for the government to go after somebody?"

He meant it as a rhetorical question, but I wasn't having any of it. "You're no lawyer."

"I was in the army and my sister Gina's JAG so I know a little. You've got to have records, witnesses. They've got an indictment, Sookie. They've been building a case for months."

I was so boiling mad I couldn't even think straight. "If you've thought all this, why are you driving with us? You're treating him—I don't know—as normal as you ever do." For lack of anything better to do, I grabbed my cell phone and threw it at Sam's head. He ducked. My phone bounced off the TV. "Call the cops if you're so convinced." I didn't mean it and I wouldn't have let him, but part of me wanted him to try so I had a real excuse to smack him with the pillow I'd just grabbed.

Sam stood up. He opened his arms— trying to hug me or grab me or something—I didn't know. All I knew was that I didn't want to touch him. I jumped on the bed out of reach. "Sookie, calm down."

"He's innocent."

Yesterday, FOX News had accused Eric of systematically hooking teenage girls on V, then farming them to other vampires as some kind of snack-box cum sex slave. Today, CNN repeated the story. Both channels claimed he ran a human trafficking network out of Fangtasia. It was sick.

Sam held up a hand. "Okay. Hold up. Lower your voice."

"I'm not screaming," I screamed.

There were times when Eric's lack of morality scared me—like when Alexi killed those innocent kids and he didn't care. There were times when Eric himself plain scared me—like when he choked me the night Micky broke into my apartment. Eric had wondered, aloud, if he would be better off were I dead. Even so, I knew Eric mostly meant well, in his own way. He wasn't a drug dealer and he wouldn't abuse women so horrifically, so systematically.

As much as I wanted to believe Eric was above such crimes—and I did believe it, mostly—it was Eric's own well-developed sense of self-preservation that convinced me of his innocence. Eric wanted to mainstream. He'd worked so hard to build his little empire. Why would he throw that away?

Sam was wrong.

I sank into a chair. "Get out."

"No," Sam said. "Listen."

I put my hands over my ears. I wasn't interested in any more of his jealous B.S.

"Sookie—"

I grabbed the television remote, flicked it off mute, and cranked up the volume. "—Kingpin presumed dead, although officials have just scratched the surface of Northman's criminal network."

_Victor's._

I looked at Sam. He had _thought_ at me. I couldn't believe his nerve. "Get out of my head."

Sam took the moment to grab the remote out of my hands. He hit mute. "I think the organization's real. But I never said it was Eric's."

That was all it took. I realized what he'd been trying to tell me. "Victor's."

Sam nodded. "I think Victor's exposing his own organization."

I flopped back onto the bed. "I'm so sorry." I felt like my mind was running at vampire speed. "How long have you suspected?"

"Last night. The news. Some lady from the government said all the money was funneled through New Orleans—"

"Victor's home base."

"She had a pile of financial records thick as a phone book. And I thought, god, it would be a headache to fake all that. Fake it good enough to fool government lawyers. I have enough trouble at Merlotte's." Sam kept his accounts in a composition notebook.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Sam shrugged. "Wasn't sure." I narrowed my eyes. That seemed like a lame excuse. "And I didn't want to be wrong."

"So?"

Sam sighed. "Listen, Sookie, he's—" Sam trailed off, which told me he wasn't going to say anything flattering. "Listen," he started again. "If this idea's wrong, it would be a lot better coming from you than me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam shrugged. He wouldn't say it outright, which meant that I had to. "Eric wouldn't hurt you."

"Not in front of you."

That got me mad. "Eric wouldn't hurt you."

"Maybe not physically."

"You telling me you're afraid of him?"

"I don't want to get on his bad side."

"You're on my bad side." But he wasn't really. All the yelling had wrung the anger out of me. I didn't have proof—and maybe because only it was the first ray of hope I'd seen in two days—but I was starting to believe that Sam may be right. "Why would Victor expose his own criminal network?"

"I don't know."

"Try. You're on a roll." I needed time to think. I missed brainstorming with Eric.

Sam paused. "Why would Victor expose his network? What if the government was on to him?"

I ran with it. "They're on the verge of finding everything. He throws them off the scent by framing Eric."

Sam nodded. "Two birds with one stone: get rid of a rival, kill an indictment."

It was clean. Simple. Too much so. Everything concerning vampires was messy. Headache-inducing.

I had to start with the facts. What did I know for sure? "Eric is innocent," I said. "He'd never compromise Fangtasia." He loved that bar.

"Is that his main moneymaker?" Sam asked.

I knew squat about Eric's finances and hoped to keep it that way. "Maybe. But the Area 5 vamps give him kickbacks. It's terrible." Then it hit me. "What if Victor was losing money?" Victor had to pay Felipe, at least, if not some higher authority. "From everything I've seen, vampires," I searched for some non-judgmental way to describe their twisted social relations. "Vampire hierarchy, is that the right word?"

Sam shrugged. "You'd know better than me."

"Well, whatever it is, vampires pay their bosses. Say Bill makes money, Eric gets a cut, then Eric bumps some up to his boss—Victor I guess—and Victor pays Felipe. Don't know who Felipe answers to, maybe those stupid clans."

"Sounds like the mafia."

I gave Sam a look, but it wasn't anything I hadn't already thought myself. "Don't tell him I told you."

Sam gave me a look right back. "When would I tell him? We don't talk."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I went back to Eric's trouble. "If Victor can't make rent, what does he do?"

"Get cash quick." That would explain his clumsy incursion into Mississippi.

"And say he's saddled with a real change drain?" I was getting the hang of this. "Think about how much money it would take to support an organization the scope of what we're talking about—the bribes, the V, hideouts for the girls. And say he has problems with revenue coming in. I mean, who needs to buy girls when you've got a whole wide world of willing donors?"

"You'd need them before the Revelation."

Sam was right. "So it's a holdover, from before the world changed." I was beyond disturbed by the idea of vampires deliberately getting people addicted to their blood then keeping them around as a kind of on-tap-meal, but it didn't run counter to the few tidbits Eric dropped—I still vividly remembered our happy meal conversation—and some of the uglier things I'd seen with my own eyes. It made me even more determined to kick Victor's pasty Yankee ass. "So what do you do when you're stuck with a stinker?"

"Dump it in someone else's backyard. But Sookie—"

I didn't want to hear Sam's buts. "This is it. We've got him."

"Maybe," Sam said.

"Likely."

"Likely isn't sure. What's Eric going to do, glamour the Shreveport DA to replace his name with Victor's?" I shrugged, but Sam pressed on. "Eric is on the news. Everybody thinks he's guilty. Well, everyone thinks he's dead. Either way, you can't fix this with memory wipes. You need real proof." Sam sighed. "Proof that can stand up in the news and probably in court. And, I hate to say this, but I bet everyone who could have provided it is either glamoured or dead."

Felipe de Castro appeared on the mute TV set in an advertisement for Sangria, Vegas's #1 vampire casino.

"Not everybody," I said.

Felipe popped his fangs. Smiled.


	16. Internal Audit, Part 1

I pounded on Craig's door. When Deidra answered, her eyes went wide. "Wow. Your hair."

I made a lame attempt to play it off. "New city, new do." It was weird to have a new hair color 20 minutes after a first meeting. Who drove cross-country then dyed their hair before sleeping or showering? A crazy or a criminal. Or me.

Sam put his arm around my shoulders. "Doesn't she look great?"

Great was pushing it. I looked like a Mom. I had pulled my new brown hair into a bun. I had also changed into Sam's extra collared shirt and a conservative skirt I'd packed for the wedding. I wanted to look as "professional" as possible. It was a getup I'd never wear if left to my own devices, but today I had an ulterior motive. It didn't stop me from missing my sundress.

Craig appeared behind Deidra. He eyeballed Sam's arm on my shoulder and wondered again if we were dating. Then he checked me out. At least he had the decency to feel guilty about it. Craig put his arm around Deidra and kissed the crown of her head. Penance.

"You look nice," Craig said. He liked my blonde hair better.

"It's almost my color now." Deidra sounded offended. "It's pretty."

It was one of those fake compliments girls sometimes give each other. I didn't take it personally. My hair was a necessary casualty. If someone recognized me and called the police, or worse, Victor, my sorry adventures would be over.

Honestly, I'd be damn lucky if the dye was the weirdest thing I had to do before tomorrow sunup. Or even by today's sundown. Sam and I had been handed a golden opportunity: five whole hours before the sun set and the vampires rose. We'd be stupid not to take advantage of the window.

Sam and I hammered out a plan before meeting Craig and Deidra. Or more accurately, I planned while Sam sulked. He wasn't happy, because he thought going after Felipe was foolhardy. I invited him to think of better options. His ideas dried up after "stay put" and "keep out of trouble." But when I told him I was going to Felipe's with or without him, he caved.

So here we were: me dressed like a mom and Sam playing sidekick. His part of the plan was easy: he had to keep his family busy. My role was stickier and would only work if I got lucky. But considering the trouble Eric was in, I had to take the risk.

"I know just the place for lunch," I told Deidra. "You up for a vampire buffet?" After Felipe's commercial, I used the hotel visitor guide to track down the address of Sangria, Vegas's #1 vampire-owned casino. The Sangria advertisement featured a hunky Hispanic vampire and tear-off coupons for the casino's 24-hour buffet.

The coupons were the perfect cover. I waved them at Deirdra. "This is going to be fun."

"I don't think so." Deidra crossed her arms. She was thinking about a _20-20_ she'd seen last month about vampire serial killers. I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. People watched garbage like that and then thought all vampires were going to eat them. Admittedly, most, if not all, of the "law-abiding" vampires I knew had killed multiple people, but their crimes was more complicated than knee-jerk bloodlust.

Thankfully, Craig had no such qualms. The penny-pinching was all it took to win him over. "Cheap food, babe," he said and smacked Deidra's ass. "I'll get keys." He ducked into their motel room.

"Craig, wait." Deidra drew the vowels into a whine and followed Craig into the room, door swinging shut behind her.

Sam and I were left alone on the stoop. "She doesn't like vampires," I said, even though it was obvious from her body language.

Sam jumped on his high horse. "Caution is good. You need more of it. I don't want you walking in there, lying through your teeth—"

"You three want to lunch somewhere else, fine. But I'm going." Night would be here all too soon.

"You can't go alone."

"I can," I said. "And I will."

Sam glared at me. I gave him a stink eye right back. He looked away first, with a "God damn it, Sookie."

"Are you coming?" I asked. "Or do you want to give me the car keys?"

Sam glared again and cracked open the motel room door. Over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Craig and Deidra fighting. Hushed tones. She had her arms crossed. "Ready?" Sam called.

Craig brushed off Deidra and held up a ring of keys. "I'll drive."

He walked past me and Sam jogged to catch up. Deidra didn't move. She watched Craig go, her mouth a tight, unhappy line. I felt guilty. From all I'd heard, it seemed like her life in Wright had been pretty sheltered and here I was, dragging her to her idea of Gomorrah. I needed to make this right. I stepped inside the motel room. "Come on. You sit by me. We've barely gotten a chance to know each other."

Deidra didn't look happy, but the overture was enough to get her out of the room. As she approached, I slammed up my shields. I didn't want to pick up on more unwelcome thoughts. _20-20_ had been enough.

"Tell me about your trip," I said, as we stepped into the parking lot. "How long was your drive?"

She shrugged. "Don't know." She looked petrified. It had to be the vampires.

I didn't know what tack to take. My instinct was to be straight with her. Say something like _I'm dating a vampire and they aren't so bad_, but considering how her family reacted to Sam's secret—and I couldn't forget that her father almost shot Sam yesterday—I had to tread carefully.

I broke the ice with, "A vampire lives next door to me."

Deidra started. "What?"

"He's nice. " When Deidra made a face, I reconsidered the adjective. "Ok, maybe nice isn't the right word, but he cuts his lawn and pays bills on time."

Deidra frowned. "Vampires drink blood."

I couldn't argue with that, but "They try to fit in."

"What about that one on the news?" It took me a second to realize she meant Eric.

Eric's PR issues were literally the last thing I wanted to talk to Deidra about. So I was probably a little blunter in my response than I should have been. "Nothing will happen at the casino, because those vampires want money. If we die, no tourists would visit."

I was trying to reassure myself as well as Deidra, although my relationship with the vampires was so complex, I knew I could no longer be classified as an "tourist." All I could count on was that if anything happened to me, it wouldn't be in public. Felipe wouldn't want to reveal how medieval his business dealings could be.

"So there's nothing to worry about." I finished, lamely. My mouth felt dry. The reality check had knocked the wind out of my sails. Sam might piss me off by urging caution, but on some level he was probably right.

Deidra looked at me like I had two heads. I figured I had come on too strong. "They don't think like people," she said. "The news." Eric again. "It's unnatural."

"Yes." And when I got my proof Victor was responsible, I was going to enjoy making him pay, for what he'd done to Eric, to me, and to all those innocent people. Did hoping for revenge make me a bad person? I wanted it so much, I almost didn't care.

"He makes my skin crawl," Deidra said. Honestly, it made my skin crawl too. It wasn't right to tar vampires as a group for the crimes of an individual, but I understood Deidra's discomfort. The victimized women were her age or younger. My age or younger.

"It's just lunch," I lied. Kind-of lied. If all went well, it would be 'just lunch' for Deidra. "You'll sit by me." Whatever good it would do.

She looked back at the motel room. "I've got a headache."

I grabbed her wrist before I fully realized what I was doing. "That's a terrible excuse." I threaded my arm through hers in that overly friendly way. I hated it when near-strangers did it to me. "Now, talk to me." I scrounged for a topic. "Tell me how you met Craig."

On cue, Craig leaned out the window of his truck. "You hens coming or yapping?"

"Hens don't yap," I said, under my breath. That earned Deidra's first smile.

As we pulled out of the lot, I stole a look at the Lincoln. I hated to leave Eric alone in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn. I told myself that he would be fine. No one knew we were here. It would be worse to park him at Felipe's casino.

"You okay?" Craig studied me through the overhead mirror. Deidra and I were sharing the backseat while Sam rode shotgun.

"Just hungry," I said as I pulled out my cell phone. I texted Eric as Craig pulled out of the motel lot.

_Victor pinning his own crimes on you? Something to work with? Love, S._

After a quick thought, I added Pam to the text. Then Bill too. Eric, Sam and I needed all the help we could get. I wrote a second text for Eric only.

_Going to F's casino._

I shut my phone. Sam was my only backup. From now until dark, the two of us were on our own.

Felipe's casino was ten minutes away, but the drive felt interminable. I wished I'd been sitting next to Sam. There was obviously something going on: Craig played top-40 radio too loud while Deidra stared out the window and wouldn't speak unless spoken to. Without chatter to distract me, I got more and more nervous. I kept going over the plan in my head, but I felt almost sick with fear when we pulled into the parking garage at Sangria.

I've never been to Spain, or even Mexico, but Sangria was modeled after countries of the old-world Hispanic persuasion, if the sets on those Zorro movies starring Antonio Banderas (yum) are to be believed. There were lots of colored tiles, funny pointed arches and unnecessary balconies. The balconies in particular reminded me of the French Quarter.

A marble fountain dominated the lobby. A pack of stone lions ringed the edge. And, of course, the fountain ran red. A nearby label said:

_100% True Blood. _

"Ew," said Deidra, reading over my shoulder.

Craig, Deidra, Sam and I sat down to the buffet and powered through our first course (you'd never believe it, but Felipe's people actually knew how to fry chicken). I excused myself before round two. I told Craig and Deidra I had to use the bathroom, then added some ballyhoo about being nauseous. Considering my nerves, it wasn't very far from the truth. I felt Sam's eyes follow me as I left the restaurant.

I walked straight to the front desk, skirting the edges of the True Blood fountain. I re-tucked my top, hoping that I looked as businesslike as possible with my ridiculous boobs. At least Sam's shirt was loose on me.

Thankfully, the desk clerk didn't give me the onceover. He was too busy worrying about his wife. She was sick. I dipped into his thoughts. No, pregnant. On bed rest. He was counting the minutes until his shift ended so he could get home to her. He started tallying earnings. The clerk was paid hourly. He made more than I did at Merlotte's, even on a good tip day, but hardly enough for one baby and God, in his infinite wisdom, had set him up with twins. The clerk's wife wanted to name their babies after her sisters, whom he hated. She was trying to guilt him into agreeing by whining about the long hours he had to work.

I struggled free of the clerk's thoughts. He was a real broadcaster.

"Hi, I'm Sookie Stackhouse." The clerk barely looked up. "Can I speak to your manager?"

"You're looking at him." That explained his healthy wage.

"Great. I'm here to see the Felipe de Castro."

That got the clerk's attention. "Sr. de Castro is out."

Duh. It was daytime. That's what I was counting on. "Access to his office will be fine. I'm here to pull files. " I really had the clerk's attention now, so I went whole hog. "Felipe called me yesterday. I'm an associate from Louisiana. I work with Sandy Seachrest and Victor Madden. You have to know Victor."

The clerk couldn't decide if I was crazy, but he said, "Mr. Madden has an office on the second floor."

I nodded, as if that proved my story.

The clerk—Brian, according to his nametag—cleared his throat. "What do you do for Sr. de Castro?"

"Internal audit." I wasn't exactly sure what audit meant, but Sam suggested it as the easiest way for me to access Felipe's financial records.

"You have ID?"

I was afraid of this. ID was my Achilles heel. I didn't have anything remotely official looking, so I passed him my lousy Louisiana drivers' license. I still had the picture I'd taken when I got my learner's permit at 16.

Brian studied it. Then stated the obvious. "This is your license."

"Sure. What else would I have?" I pressed on before he had time to react. "Listen. Felipe likes me to work during the daytime, so I don't bother him by poking in files when he's up." I was talking fast because my words didn't make any sense.

Brian picked up a phone. "I'm calling security."

I leaned across the desk. This was my last shot. If I had any hope of clearing Eric's name, I needed access to Felipe's financial records. "Brian, what do you make? 18 an hour?" I had heard the number in his head earlier. When I parroted it back, his eyes went wide. Luckily for me, he started thinking about his finances. "Plus an end of year bonus, that's good. 2K." Jeez, Felipe treated his human employees well. I was a little jealous.

Brian stared at me, open-mouthed. "How do you—"

I lowered my voice. "Felipe's business is my business."

Brian's thoughts were a whorl of panic. He didn't want to piss off Felipe by letting a stranger upstairs, but he could also raise hell by turning away a legitimate employee. Brian had never met Felipe personally and hoped it stayed that way. Vampires frightened him, but Sangria offered hourly employees medical insurance (that surprised me and gave Felipe a little boost in my book). Brian couldn't leave his job until his wife gave birth.

I knew that if Brian let me into Felipe's office, he'd be fired, at the very least. Considering how vampires doled out punishment, he'd be fired if he was very lucky. He would lose his insurance, and between twins and bed rest, it sounded like his wife was in for one hell of a doctor's bill. I knew the agony of paying for medical care out of pocket all too well. I needed Felipe's financial records to clear Eric, but I had to find another way to get them. Brian couldn't lose his job or his insurance.

"Forget it," I told him, half-regretting the words even as I spoke them. I'd blown my cover, and for what? Now Felipe would know I was in Vegas. Sam had been right. My plan was hastily-conceived, foolhardy. "I'll come back later."

That's when I noticed Brian had already pressed a button under the desk. A red light was flashing. Security. Shit.

On cue, I heard a voice over my shoulder. "Everything okay?"

"Sorry," I told Brian. "Got to run."

I turned around and smacked face-first into my ex-boyfriend, John Quinn.


	17. Big Mouth

_**Since it's been a while, here's a "previously on": **_

_**Eric's been indicted by everyone who can issue an indictment (including the national media), Sookie dyed her hair brown and Quinn just reentered her life (accidently) as she poses as an auditor in an attempt to find evidence to clear Eric. Everybody is at Felipe's Vegas casino as the clock ticks towards sundown.**_

Quinn's chest was rock hard and I'd smacked into him headfirst. I rubbed my aching nose. It hurt so much it throbbed, but the pain eased a little when I caught an eyeful of his chest. Level with Quinn's pecs, I couldn't help but remember what he looked like without his shirt. Yum.

"Sookie?" he asked.

It took an uncomfortable second for my brain to catch up to my mouth. "Hi."

I didn't know what else to say.

Quinn reached for me. I braced myself—afraid that he might be angling for a hug and even more scared how my body might react—but he fingered my hair instead. "You've changed."

"It matches my eyes better," was the first thing I thought of.

Quinn hated the new color. I agreed privately, but kept quiet. I had to stop obsessing over my hairdo: I had more important things to worry about. Like how Quinn stared at me like he was trying to drink me up. I wanted to mind more than I did.

Instead, I took his curiosity as an invitation to stare back.

Quinn looked like shit. Back when we dated, he could have neutralized LSU's defensive line with one hand tied behind his back, but now, he looked beat, almost haggard. Quinn's biceps were still a seventh wonder, but he had bags under his eyes and his mouth was turned down. It wasn't quite a frown—more like sadness had become a habit. I wondered if Felipe had made him go back to the pits. Or worse.

"How's Frannie?" I asked, following that macabre train of thought.

Quinn shrugged.

So she wasn't good. Jesus.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn wondered if I was in Las Vegas to save him. The hope in his thoughts made me feel guilty. I couldn't lead him on any longer. I felt the desk clerk's eyes boring into my back and heard him wonder what was going on with Quinn and me. I had made the mistake of letting the world narrow to the two of us. Sometimes the hardest thing about breaking up was remembering how to act apart.

Eye on the prize, I told myself. Don't get lost in memories. I had to get upstairs. I had to clear Eric's name. There was only one way to do it: I needed Quinn's help. So I lied. "I work for Felipe."

Quinn looked surprised. "How? They said Eric married you." Strangely, the thought had brought him comfort. As much as Quinn hated Eric, he thought an alliance would keep me out of Las Vegas.

Quinn's selflessness took me by surprise, and honestly, made my heart ache for him, just a little. I couldn't imagine Eric playing the martyr so gracefully if their roles were reversed. "I've really missed you," tumbled out before I could think.

Quinn smiled—big. "Back at you, babe."

So much for reestablishing boundaries: re-learning how to be apart and all that. Me and my big mouth.

Quinn reached for my hair again. This time, he ran his hand through, gentle, then let his offending fingers drop to my shoulder. I shivered. We may have broken up, but my body hadn't gotten the memo.

_Use this,_ said the voice in the back of my head, reminding me a little bit of Eric. _What Would Eric Do_, I thought, almost giddy. Back when Arlene and I were friends, she had worn one of the WWJD (replace Eric with Jesus) bracelets for a few seconds. I'd seen no measurable upswing in Arlene's behavior, but maybe a WWED bracelet was the key to improving mine: I would see the bracelet, decide how Eric would act and then go do the opposite.

But as Quinn smiled at me- bright and open- I knew, with a sinking heart, that in this case, Eric was right.

"Can you take me upstairs?" I said to Quinn, swallowing against a dry throat and apologizing to my Gran for using my god-given 'gifts' to such unholy ends. "You have an office?" I didn't try to make the question sound like a promise, but it came out that way anyhow.

Quinn nodded at the clerk. That's all it took. I was in.

As problem A vanished; problem B escalated: Quinn steered me across the lobby, arm dropping onto my shoulder. It was too easy to fall into the rhythm of his footfalls. I was able to keep pace, even with his long stride; we were at the far side of the lobby in what felt like an instant. Quinn parked us in front of the elevator bank and pressed _UP_. He didn't say anything. He didn't think he had to. He thought he could take all the time he wanted. I felt the satisfaction rolling off him in waves.

On the other hand, I was far from satisfied. I felt like one of those horrible reality TV contestants that made promises and turned around to do the opposite. I wanted to come clean to Quinn— I couldn't bear my flirtatious pretense, weaseling my way into the vampires' back offices— and I almost told him the truth right then and there, but I noticed a red light winking at us from the tile ceiling above. A camera. Of course Felipe taped his casino. I didn't care if Felipe found out I was here, but I didn't want to spill the beans about Eric being alive on video. The hot water was deep enough without throwing our few remaining cards on the table.

Quinn, who had always been quick, caught me looking at the camera. _Wait until we're upstairs,_ he thought. _No tapes in the vampire's offices. _Then he thought something dirty I won't share. All you need to know is that Quinn misinterpreted my discomfort over the video.

I shivered, but this time, it wasn't anything sexy. Of course Felipe wouldn't videotape his own office. Too much illegal activity transpired there. What if the Las Vegas PD asked to see the tapes? It would be easier none had ever existed.

The tape policy made me wonder how Quinn was able to survive working for Felipe until I realized I understood his motivations too well: the vampires had gone after the people he loved. I still resented Quinn for betraying me- even now, after months had numbed the initial sting- but I knew why he did it. I might have done the same, if I were in his situation. What if Felipe found out about Jason? Or, worse, Hunter?

I couldn't think about it.

The elevator dinged open. Quinn and I stepped inside. Billy Joel played on the speakers.

"How are you?" I asked, as the door slid shut. Silence in such a small space felt too intimate.

Instead of answering, Quinn shrugged. It told me two things: 1) he was not doing well and 2) he didn't mind the intimacy.

"I've just had the worst road trip of my life," I said, because if it was only the two of us and 'River of Dreams,' I might have lost my mind. "Sam and I were the target of an all-Texas manhunt."

"It never stops with you." Quinn sounded fond.

"I'm a homebody. Really," I added, as he raised his eyebrows. He hadn't dated me long enough to find out.

The elevator dinged open and we were at the vampires' offices. Quinn held the door open for me like a real gentleman and I stepped out onto the floor. It looked well-to-do—wood floors, fancy green wallpaper. Nothing would have told you something sinister was up until Quinn opened the door to our right to reveal file cabinets and a water cooler full of blood.

Two years ago, I would have screamed as soon as I saw that cooler. Today, I just felt tired. Well: tired, unsurprised, and sick. Not physically sick- more like sick of laying down and taking everything little piece of shit those vampires threw at me. They could take my vacation, they could take my one chance to be normal and go to Sam's brother's wedding, but I'd be damned if I let them take that damn water cooler. I turned to Quinn. "Leave. Please." Eric would have my head, but, "Come with me. We'll get Frannie and your Mom too." No one deserved to live so close to death, especially someone as decent as Quinn. And if Quinn got out of this, maybe there was hope for me too.

For his part, Quinn said, "Sookie," and moved in to kiss me. I was only half surprised, so I was able to keep my head. I fumbled, but succeeded in pushing him away.

"Too soon?" he asked.

_Too late_, I thought, but shook my head no instead of saying anything. I wanted to tell Quinn the truth more than anything, but I wasn't sure it was safe. "Cameras?"

He shook his head. "Not here." Interpreting camera-shyness as the cause of my hesitation, he leaned in for a second kiss.

I said, "Eric's alive," just in time.

Quinn backed off. I felt hope run out of his thoughts like sand through a sieve. "You're not here for me." It wasn't a question.

"I'm sorry," I said. "It doesn't mean I'm not happy to see you."

"Save it." He retreated to anger and I couldn't blame him.

"I'd still like your help," I tried. "I'm here to clear Eric's name, but I do want to get you out of here. Frannie and your mom, too."

Quinn looked at me like I had lost my mind. "Clear his name? If Eric's not finally dead, he deserves to be."

I didn't know how to react. Anger wouldn't help my case, so I worked to keep my voice even. "Eric is innocent." I was a little offended that I had to even say it. I had almost hoped Quinn would leap to implicating Victor himself, without me having to tell him. The crimes were so egregious, the responsible party should have been obvious.

Quinn stared at me like I was crazy. "You're brainwashed."

"Don't talk to me like I'm dumb."

"Then don't act it." Quinn's eyes flashed. "He's done nothing but use and manipulate you—"

I didn't want to hear it, so I shut down the conversation. "You going to help me or not?"

"Help you? Sure. But help you clear Eric?" Quinn actually laughed. "He can go to hell. It's better than he deserves."

I hadn't counted on Quinn turning me down. Honestly, when I'd seen him in the lobby, I'd figured he was my one chance- that God had been watching out for me. I needed to think fast. "Will you give me 20 minutes before you escort me out? Do you have a phone with a camera?"

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I need Felipe's financial records. Income coming in from Louisiana. If you won't give me the time to read them, I have to take pictures."

Quinn stared like he was seeing me for the first time. "You're serious? You really believe he's innocent?"

I had nothing to loose. "When you found me, I was pretending to be an auditor to get this information."

He almost smiled. "An auditor? Is that why—" he pointed at my head, "the hair?"

I nodded. Well, "Kind of."

"There are blonde auditors."

"They ran my picture on TV." I didn't want to talk about it. I was at rock bottom. If Quinn didn't help me I was back at square one, with nightfall only hours away.

Quinn stared at me some more. Just as the silence became uncomfortable, he said, "I'll help on one condition."

I didn't need to be a mind reader to know what it was. "I already said we'll take Frannie—"

"No," he cut me off. "I'll help if Eric tells you what he did after he exiled me from Area 5."

There was one big problem: I didn't want to know.

Plus, I was pretty sure Eric didn't want to tell.

_**Apologies for the long lag—work has been crazy. We're on the home stretch and rest assured that this ill-advised road trip will indeed draw to a close. Whether Eric and Sookie make it through, we will have to find out. Thanks for reading and a special thanks to Charlaine Harris. Happy Valentines!**_


	18. Internal Audit, Part 2

Eric didn't need to tell me what he'd done. I knew on instinct: Eric had Quinn roughed up, then delivered him to Vegas.

I had figured it out in less than ten seconds, which didn't make me feel great about myself.

When Eric told me Quinn left Area 5 all those months ago, I hadn't spared him a second thought. If I'd let myself wonder, I might have suspected Eric hadn't told me the full truth. Now, Quinn confirmed it.

Eric's business dealings were the open secret in our relationship. I knew he did things I wouldn't like. He didn't share; I didn't ask. We got along okay. Did that make me an aider and abetter? A silent partner? Maybe.

But my world was a tough place. I could be a saint, but then I'd be dead.

Quinn had been on thin ice visiting me. He'd acted like a jerk and I'd been hurt. Did that mean Quinn deserved what he got? Of course not. But was I surprised Eric punished him? If I pretended I was, I'd be a hypocrite. I'd known what Eric was capable of the first time I stepped into Fangtasia.

Honestly, Quinn's request pissed me off. He thought he was protecting me. He probably wanted to believe that I was tricked into being with Eric; which allowed him to sidestep the fact that I actually liked Eric for Eric. I didn't like that Eric beat people up—especially my ex-boyfriend for the crime of dropping by—but it was hardly new news.

I could separate the parts of Eric I liked from his worst behavior, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth. My Gran had taught me people were responsible for their actions. I planned on teaching it to my own children if and when that ever happened. As far as Eric was concerned, ignorance was bliss- but once I had a hint of wrongdoing, I couldn't turn my back, or I really would be that silent partner. Quinn probably had known that about me, which is why he brought it up in the first place.

I had to ask Eric what happened to Quinn.

But there was no way I'd do it on Quinn's terms.

"Do you think I'm naïve?" slipped out before I could think twice. I knew it was callous since Quinn had probably been injured. I wouldn't have gone there if I hadn't been so mad at him.

Quinn started. "You knew? I don't believe it."

"Of course I didn't know." I wanted to rip out my own hair, I was so frustrated. "But this isn't fair. You know what vampires are like. Weres too."

Quinn ignored the last part. "And he gets a free pass? You kicked me to the curb for caring about my family." I wasn't proud of it, especially when he put it like that. "If it were me—"

"You'd manipulate me? Force me into a corner?"

Quinn's eyes flashed. "I'd make sure you knew what you'd signed up for."

I almost laughed. I'd known the worst of Eric long before I discovered the best of him. "Thanks, but no deal. I'm sorry for whatever he did to you, but I don't appreciate you trying to sabotage my relationship."

"Relationship," Quinn echoed. He made a face, like the word had stuck in his throat.

"I'll talk to him, but it can't be part of any deal. This is real to me."

Quinn glared at me. He was obviously just as angry as I was. I regretted pissing him off, but I didn't feel guilty. After all, I was only being honest.

I had nothing to lose, so I tried one last time. "Will you help us or not?"

* * *

Felipe de Castro was a traditionalist. This was lucky, because instead of securing his office with fancy electronic passcodes, Felipe used good old-fashioned keys—state of the art in the year 1400.

Quinn had a skeleton key.

"Event planners need access to all kinds of spaces," he said, as he fiddled with the lock. He was still mad, but at least he was pretending to act normal. "Banquet halls, kitchen—"

I heard the real story in Quinn's thoughts. He stole the key on one of his first days in Vegas and had a copy made. It was a contingency plan, opened up options in case something happened to Frannie and his mom. "Good for you," I said and he looked up at me, startled. Felipe's door creaked open.

The office was simpler than I had imagined. There was a desk, a file cabinet, and a lamp. It had the same kind of anonymous tan carpet you see in doctors' offices. There was no window, either, so the room could double as a hide-out hole if Felipe was in a bind.

As Quinn started for the file cabinet, he said, "Check the desk."

I was already there. The desk's top was empty except for a phone. "No computer?" I asked Quinn, although I was hardly one to judge.

"Vampires hate them," he said and pulled open the top drawer of the file cabinet.

Bill didn't hate computers. Neither did Eric. But I kept my mouth shut and started my investigation.

Felipe's desk had two drawers and a little swinging cabinet. The top drawer held two bottles of Royalty Blended and a carved wooden figurine of a saint. I assumed it was there because the saint wore pointy shoes, which allowed her to her double as a stake.

The second drawer held paperclips and a calculator.

The cabinet concealed a stack of books. A well-thumbed copy of the Bible, in Spanish, sat on top. I didn't even want to imagine Felipe's reasons for keeping it around. Underneath was a series of ten or so plastic binders.

I pulled out the top one and flipped it open. The first page was titled 'Investment Portfolio – Sophie-Anne Leclerq.'

Bingo.

Quinn and I took a quick inventory of the binders. Half seemed to contain information about Nevada. We set those aside. The binder I'd picked up first appeared to be Felipe's stalker file on Louisiana pre-takeover. I put that aside too. Another notebook was full of data on a random collection of states, including Mississippi: future prospects maybe? I wanted to comb through it, but there wasn't time.

The remaining three binders contained general charts and records about Louisiana and Arkansas; exactly what I had been hoping to find. I gave Quinn one binder and took two for myself. We sat down on the floor and started to read.

"What should I look for?" Quinn asked.

"Anything hemorrhaging money." If Sam's idea was right, Victor's criminal network had to be in the red: why would he dump a profitable enterprise? If pressed, I could come up with reasons—not the least of which was to frame Eric—but at least a money-loser was a starting place. Of course, my hopes depended on Victor honestly reporting his income to Felipe. I was willing to wager Claudine's entire inheritance that at least some of Felipe's sheriffs cooked their books.

It took me a couple minutes to figure out how to read the binder. I wasn't used to charts and figures and the print was so small, it made my eyes swim. Felipe had organized his records alphabetically, so I skipped past Arkansas to Louisiana. The Louisiana file was broken down by month with numbers on the side, 1 through 5. I assumed the numbers corresponded to Areas. Each Area was further segmented into categories—specific business ventures, maybe.

If I was reading the charts right, Eric sent Felipe $13,000 last month. The number blew me out of the water especially considering that it was only a percentage of Eric's monthly income. $13,000 was more than half of what I made last year waiting tables at Merlotte's. Even with Claudine's inheritance in the bank, it felt like a painfully large amount of money.

A little less than half of Eric's payment came from something labeled "B.C."

Bill Compton. The database.

The other ducks in Eric's column were cryptic strings of letters and numbers. I tried to puzzle them out—"brs" maybe meant bars, although I didn't know what bars he owned other than Fangtasia and "rent," was likely real estate holdings. I got a chill when I reached the last notation on Area 5's list: "telepath." According to the file, I'd earned $1080 of the $13,000 Eric sent to Felipe last month.

I hadn't worked for Eric last month. I'd remember if I earned any extra money, let alone a thousand dollars. I scanned the previous month, then flipped earlier. The few times I'd done odd jobs for Eric, my "earnings" were higher, but each month he credited me with contributing something in the high hundreds or low thousands.

Eric cooked his books to make it seem like I worked for him. It had been going on for months: the fake reporting went earlier than January, when we supposedly got married, although sums increased after that date.

I had never once suspected that Eric was doing such a thing. On paper, I seemed like an obedient little earner. To Felipe, I looked useful and Eric looked good. It was high-handed as all else.

I was touched.

"What did you find?" Quinn must have noticed me pause, because he shifted to look over my shoulder. Being so close to him made my skin prickle. I pushed the feeling away.

"Nothing." I didn't want to share my discovery with Quinn- one, because he wouldn't appreciate it and, two, because however much I wanted to believe the best of him, there was no way my discovery could get back to Felipe.

So I squinted and said, "This print is hard to read."

It was a lame attempt at changing the subject, but god bless him, Quinn bought it. "You'll get it, babe," he said, rubbing my shoulder and returning to the binder he'd abandoned.

As Quinn looked back at his own file, I scanned up the page to Area 1—New Orleans and Victor's current seat. Victor sent Felipe $21,900 last month; more than Eric, but not an astronomical sum considering that the business options in New Orleans far outstripped those available in Area 5, one of the poorest regions of the state. I knew Eric tried to net interstate dollars by attracting truckers and tourists travelling the I-20 corridor between Jackson and Dallas. He'd papered the Shreveport exits with Fangtasia billboards. While the ads made me roll my eyes—they featured a busty vampiress in a leather cat suit—I knew it was a smart business decision. Eric had to attract out-of-town money because Area 5's real residents were dirt poor.

Of course, now that Eric's reputation was shot to hell, attracting any kind of clientele—local or visitor—was going to be an uphill battle. But I was getting ahead of myself. For him to return to business, we had to prove his innocence and that meant placing blame where it was due: on someone else.

The majority of Victor's income came from three sources: "hotels," "MSB," whatever that was, and "XXX." I had no illusions as to what type of business XXX was, but even so, I couldn't be sure it was the entry I was looking for. Last month, Victor gave Felipe a cut of XXX to the tidy sum of $9,300. As I flipped back through previous months, the numbers fluctuated up and down, but XXX was always profitable.

"Nothing is losing money," Quinn said, echoing my own frustration and he paged through his own file.

That couldn't be true. "They aren't reporting it," I said. I should have known better than to believe vampires would keep an honest record of their business dealings. There was too much backstabbing; any hint of weakness was pounced upon. For them, lying was self-preservation.

"Wait," Quinn said. He pushed his binder towards me and pointed at a spot on the ledger.

Under Area 1 (cha-ching!), an entry labeled "A." lost (-$14,560) in one month. The next month, it had vanished. When I flipped forward in time; "A." had disappeared. But as I scanned backward, I found "A." again. I followed it back even further, as it lost $7,000; 5,000 and so on.

"October it's here," Quinn said. "November, it's gone." And he was right. In the space of a month, 'A.' had vanished.

"What's the year on this book?" I asked.

"Last year." I got a chill as he flipped to the front page to confirm that it was the records for 2005. We must have been thinking exactly the same thing, because Quinn looked at me and said, "The takeover."

The takeover had happened in October of last year, the month "A." disappeared.

Quinn snapped the binder shut. He was obviously upset by the memory of the takeover. His phone alarm beeped, saving me from scrounging up some insufficient words of comfort and saving Quinn from having to politely endure them. "Thirty minutes to sunset," he said, sending another chill down my spine. We had cut it really close. "Let me drive you to your hotel."

I figured Sam had shepherded his family back to the Holiday Inn hours ago, so I said yes. When our elevator arrived in the lobby, I was surprised to find Sam, Craig and Deidra sprawled across couches. Sam looked bored and Craig was playing with Deidra's fingers. She noticed me immediately and leapt to her feet. "Sookie, thank god."

They had waited for me all afternoon? I felt horrible. When Sam and I had hammered out the original plan at our hotel, I told him that I would take the bus home.

Sam stood up too, so I got a clear view of his face as he noticed Quinn. I can't quite put into words what happened to his expression—it almost hardened. I figured he was disappointed to see Quinn with me, but I resisted the urge to eavesdrop on his thoughts and find out.

Deidra's eyes fixed over my shoulder. She started at my ear level, then travelled up: checking Quinn out from pecs to face. "Who's that?" she asked—eyes widening.

"Quinn," I said, "this is Deidra. You already know Sam."

"Craig," Craig provided, appearing from nowhere to drape his arm over Deidra's shoulder. Marking his territory. He held out his hand for Quinn to shake.

"Craig is Sam's brother," I said. "He's marrying Deidra tonight."

"Congratulations," Quinn said as he took Craig's hand. "You too," he added to Deidra, who averted her eyes, but smiled anyway. I wondered again how old she was. I couldn't believe she was more than sixteen.

"I'm so sorry I kept you waiting," I said. "I ran into Quinn—"

"Old friends," he overlapped, saving me from the awkward work of categorizing us.

"I can't believe you waited for me," I said to Sam.

"Sam forced us—" Deidra began as Sam overlapped with:

"It's no big deal."

I wanted to stay as far away from the family spat as I could, so I just smiled and said, "Thanks."

"Ready to get out of here?" Sam asked, shooting Quinn a look that was far from friendly.

"Sure," I said. "Just let me say goodbye. I won't be two minutes." Sam nodded and planted his feet like he was going to stay put, so I said, "I'll meet you in the garage."

Sam couldn't argue without looking like a fool, so he shrugged and headed out. Craig—who looked ready to hightail it—did the same. Only Deidra lagged. "We've been waiting all afternoon."

"Two minutes. I promise," I said, a little annoyed. Deidra nodded and—after stealing one last look at Quinn—ran to catch up with Craig. I watched as she threaded her arm through his.

"How old is she?" Quinn asked, watching them leave.

"So you think it's a bad idea too?" I asked, relieved that I wasn't a crazy island of one.

He gave me a look—a half smile, and said, "I have a sister."

Non sequitur? "So?"

"I know answering questions like that will only get me in trouble."

"Coward," I said, teasing him. I didn't mean it.

He shrugged. "Whatever you say, babe."

I felt comfortable; the conversation had fallen into the easy rhythm we'd shared when we were dating.

I had an idea. Eric would throw a fit, but I knew I could handle him and I wouldn't let Quinn pay the price for my break-in. "Felipe will know you helped me as soon as he watches the security tapes," I said. "Is your Mom still in a home here?" He looked uncomfortable, but nodded. "Why don't you get her and Frannie and take them to our hotel? We'll protect you. Once we've sorted this whole thing with Felipe, we can go back east together."

"Sookie," Quinn said, then paused. There was something final in his tone: as soon as my name left his mouth, I'd knew he'd say no. "I'd take your protection in a heartbeat, but forgive me if I don't want to accept Eric's.

I wasn't taking no for an answer. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"There are hundreds of cameras in this hotel," Quinn said. "Whatever you might think, they're not fitted with a Sookie Stackhouse alarm." He had the barest trace of a smile. "I'm only in trouble if Felipe watches the video and he has better things to do. I'd raise an alarm by disappearing."

"If he finds out—"

"Then remember that you owe me," Quinn said. "Actually, promise me this—"

I did owe him, but I knew better than to promise blindly. "Tell me first."

"If something happens, don't come after me. Get Frannie and my mom."

I stared at him. "You're serious?"

"I want your word." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. Quinn scribbled a couple lines onto the back. "This is the address of my mom's home. Tell her we're back together and I sent you, or else—" He trailed off, obviously thinking better of his plan. Quinn might not be able to say it, but I could complete the sentence myself: if I didn't pretend to be head over heels for Quinn, his mom might shift into a tiger and rip me limb from limb. The thought made me far from happy, but Quinn had put himself out on a line for me—and ultimately, for Eric, even though he hated him. The least I could do was the same.

"I get it," I said, feeling grim.

"You sure?"

"Just give me the card."

Quinn handed it over. "Frannie's cell is on there too."

God, that was a reunion I was looking forward to. "Great."

Sarcasm must poisoned my tone because Quinn looked taken aback and said, "She really looks up to you."

I didn't have the energy to backpedal, so I shrugged and kissed him on the cheek. "Take care of yourself."

He had better—because I sure as hell didn't want to reunite with his extended family.

When I got back to the truck, everyone was waiting, as they had all afternoon. I felt guiltier than a thief at church. "Thanks," I said, as I slid in the backseat. "I lost track of time."

"How do you know Quinn?" Deidra asked.

"He's her ex," Sam said, letting anger get the better of him.

Craig picked up on Sam's jealousy too, because he laughed and smacked Sam on the shoulder. "It just matters who she comes home to, right?"

Sam sunk into his seat. He didn't have that going for him either.

I tried—and failed—not to be offended by Craig's comment. It put me in a sour mood. I noticed Deidra staring at me as we pulled out of the parking garage. "What?" I said—probably sharper than I needed to.

"Nothing." She retreated into her own space. "Sorry."

I felt rotten about it all the way back to the motel. Craig played country music loud to cover the silence. When we pulled into the lot, I did a quick spot check on the Lincoln, which was parked exactly where we had left it, thank god. Craig and Sam got out and headed for our rooms.

But when Deidra hopped out of the car, announcing, "I'm getting a soda," I tailed her. I had to make this right.

"Deidra, I'm sorry."

She crossed her arms. "What for?"

I didn't have time to play games. "That I was short with you," I said, sounding short. "That you all had to wait. I didn't know Quinn—" My cell rang. Deidra stared at me, daring me to take it. I pressed mute without looking. The least I could do was give her my full attention. "I hope we can be friends." Or friendly, whatever. This was her wedding day. I wanted her to feel good.

"I think it's pretty low you went off with your ex when you're here with Sam," Deidra said. She wasn't going to let me have an easy time of it.

I sighed. For the last time, "Sam and I aren't—"

My phone rang again. I checked the caller ID this time. Eric. I glanced at the Lincoln, over my shoulder. It was still. I turned back at Deidra. She stared at me, expectant. "Sam and you aren't what?"

"Together," I said. The call from Eric rang off, then immediately started up again. He had to be in that trunk with his finger hammering redial. I suddenly remembered that I texted him saying I was going to Felipe's. If I didn't answer, he'd presume the worse. "I'm sorry," I said. "I have to take this."

Deidra rolled her eyes. She obviously didn't think much of me. After leaving them hanging for a whole afternoon, I couldn't blame her. But when I balanced Deidra's annoyance against the wrath of my vampire boyfriend: well, let's just say the scales were weighted against her.

"What?" I said, flipping open my phone.

Deidra's scream drowned out anything Eric might have said. She hollered again, widening eyes fixed on a point over my shoulder.

I wheeled around. A white arm had punched through the Lincoln's trunk, night-of-the-living-dead style. It was pawing around for the exterior latch.

"Oh for goodness sake," I said to myself.

Eric was up.


	19. The Whopper

I screamed, "It's okay," to Deidra and then wondered how I could possibly end that sentence.

It's okay: that disembodied hand belongs to my 1000 year-old boyfriend, who spent today in the trunk so he wouldn't be incinerated by sunlight.

I didn't think that would calm her down.

I stopped caring when Craig barreled past me, yelling and swinging a tire iron. Sam was right on his heels. "Hold up!"

"Stop!" I screamed, trying to grab Craig. I wasn't quick enough.

Hollering, "I've got this, baby," Craig raised the iron over his head and brought it down—crack—on the trunk of the Lincoln. When he pulled it up, there was a deep dent. Eric tried to grab the iron, his hand dancing around like Thing from the Addams Family.

Deidra screeched. "Get her inside," Craig said to Sam. He yanked the iron away from Eric's hand, swung it over his head, and brought it down again. The Lincoln went crunch. Eric must have gone crunch too.

That was the last straw.

"Stop it!" I screamed. "That's my boyfriend."

Craig froze, iron over his head, primed for another blow. Deidra gawked at me, open-mouthed. Sam dropped his eyes to the ground.

I didn't know what more to say so I watched Eric's hand limp over to the latch. He jiggered it. The trunk creaked open.

Everyone turned to look. Then Deidra screamed again. "It's the vampire from TV."

At the far end of the lot, a head popped out of the main office. The desk clerk. Jesus. Could the day get any worse?

"Handle this," I said to Sam, and took off after the clerk.

He saw me coming. If I'd been in his shoes, I would have gone into the front office and barricaded the door, but luckily for me, he had less experience in life-threatening situations and made a tactical error: he ran outside.

As he did, I discovered another blessing: the clerk was a teenager and about a hundred pounds overweight. He couldn't run fast.

"Hey! Wait. Stop," I yelled, mostly to freak him out. I didn't think there was any chance of him actually obeying.

It hardly mattered, because I was gaining on him. The clerk looked over his shoulder, panting, and tried to move faster. Then he reached into his pocket. I saw a flash of metal when his hand emerged: a cell phone.

If the clerk called the police, it was all over.

Summoning all my strength and the little extra I'd borrowed from Eric's blood—I lunged. I caught the clerk by the neck of his Holiday Inn uniform. He made a gurgling noise and crashed to his knees.

"I'm so sorry," I said as I pushed him to the ground and sat on top of him. His nametag said Dennis. I yanked his phone out of his hand and tossed it across the lot. "Were you alone in the office?"

"There's a policeman in there," Dennis panted. Saying that was the first smart thing he'd done, but I could tell from his thoughts that he was lying. Dennis had been alone. I said a private thank you to Jesus. Then caught myself. I had just assaulted a teenager in the middle of a public parking lot. I had no business praying.

"I'm sorry," I said again. Dennis just groaned.

I heard footsteps behind me. Eric. His shadow stretched long in the early dusk light, covering the clerk and me. It shortened as he knelt beside us. There was an ugly, purpling bruise on the side of his face. His eye was red with burst blood vessels—injuries from Craig's tire iron.

"Look at me," Eric said to the clerk. Instantly, the kid relaxed. "Get up and go back to work. We were never here."

"And his phone." I hoped I hadn't broken it.

"Find your phone," Eric commanded.

As Dennis did just that, I took Eric's hand. His knuckles were bloody from punching through the trunk. "How are you doing?"

"Poorly." The bruises from the tire iron were already starting to fade. I watched his eye regain its normal color. "You need to tell me exactly what you did this afternoon."

"I went to Felipe's."

Eric glared. He dropped my hand and struggled to his feet. He was moving slower than usual so I knew he was feeling bad—whether it was the tire iron or spending the day crunched in a trunk I wasn't sure. Probably both.

Eric didn't say anything, but he gave me a look that let me know he was furious. He started across the parking lot, back toward our rooms. I fell into step behind him.

Sam, Craig and Deidra had clustered around Lincoln. Somewhere along the line, Sam had taken possession of the offending tire iron. He looked shell-shocked. On the other hand, Craig and Deidra seemed relaxed, even happy. They leaned against the Lincoln's now-busted trunk, holding hands. Deidra had glamour-eyes.

"Hi Eric," she said, as we got close. "Did you find the vending machine?"

Eric didn't bother replying. He eyed the rooms, probably realized he didn't know which one was ours, crossed his arms and looked at me. His bruises had vanished. You'd never know that three minutes ago, he'd been beaten senseless by a tire iron. Craig was ex-army—I could only imagine how much it had hurt.

Eric didn't say anything, but, '_We need to talk,'_ was written all over his face.

I sighed and took out the Lincoln's keys. I wasn't about to kick Sam, Craig and Deidra out of their own hotel rooms. Plus, I wanted privacy in case Eric and I actually had a fight. The hotel walls were thin and I didn't want any of them to overhear us, particularly Sam.

"We're going for a drive," I told Sam. "I'll be back in five." I hoped it would be five minutes, not hours. Actually, even five hours would be okay. At this point, I'd just settle for making it through the weekend alive.

Sam nodded, dumb. As Eric walked past, Sam handed him the tire iron. Eric passed it to Craig. "You dropped this."

Craig looked at it like he was seeing it for the first time. "Thanks, man."

"You'll be back for the wedding tonight?" At first I assumed Deidra was just talking to me, but as she smiled and glanced from me to Eric, I realized she was asking both of us. "You're our witness, Sookie."

I looked over at Eric, who, per usual, was dealing with unwanted information by pretending he hadn't heard it. He walked over to the passenger side of the Lincoln and waited for me to unlock it.

"I'll be there," I told Deidra. Lying was easier than explaining that my attendance was contingent on Eric and me escaping the gigantic vampire mess we were in. At worst, I'd disappoint her by not showing. I wanted to be there. Even though the wisdom of Craig and Deidra's match escaped me and Deidra seemed too young to get married, regardless of what age she actually was, I wanted to be at the wedding for Sam's sake. After all, we had come this far. "When is it?"

"Midnight," Craig said and laughed. He planted a wet one on Deidra, who squealed and pushed him away. "Big city hours."

"Eric, you're coming too?" Deidra called.

Sam and I exchanged a glance, grim. If Eric attended, it could bring the wrath of Las Vegas's vampires, plus the DEA and police, onto that little wedding chapel. For his part, Eric glared and jiggled the handle of the Lincoln. My guess was that he had glamoured Deidra into thinking he had been with us the whole time. She interpreted it to mean they were old friends.

Deidra looked hurt when Eric didn't acknowledge her existence. And who could blame her? "He's exhausted," I said, feeling bad for her, as I unlocked the car. "Sometimes he has trouble hearing." Eric was inside the Lincoln in a flash. "He'll be there."

Like hell he would. I'd keep him away if it was the last thing I did.

I slid into the driver's seat. Eric was riding shotgun, buckling his seatbelt. I concealed a smile. If anyone had a good excuse to forgo a seatbelt, it was a 1000-year old vampire. I backed out of the lot.

"I think Victor is framing you by revealing his own organization," I said, as the Holiday Inn grew tiny in our rearview mirror.

"We'll talk about it later," Eric said, taking me aback. I was annoyed that he had dismissed my idea so quickly. "Tell me what you did at Felipe's."

I was reluctant to say anything, because I couldn't decide if I should mention Quinn. So I focused on the road instead. I noticed a Burger King coming up on my right and decided to hit the drive through. I didn't know when I'd get another opportunity to eat.

"Dinner," I said to Eric as I flipped on my turn signal. "We could stop at a liquor store to get you True Blood."

Eric knew I was stalling. "What did you do?" he asked, with more urgency. "I assume it has something to do with that horrible thing on your head."

In all the hullaballoo, I'd forgotten about my brown hair. "That's more of a general disguise."

As I pulled into the drive through, I caught sight of Eric's reflection in the overhead mirror. His mouth was a thin line and he looked worried, maybe even frightened. Eric was often angry, but rarely scared. Or at least, he rarely showed it. Seeing his fear made mine ratchet up a notch.

That's when I knew I had to tell him everything. If we were going to get out of this alive (or undead, as the case may be) we needed to be on the same page. But I had to time it right.

"I saw Quinn," I said, just as I pulled up to the drive-through microphone.

"Welcome to Burger King, may I take your order?"

"Yes, thanks," I said, feeling Eric's eyes boring into the back of my neck. "I'll have a Whopper combo, fries, no pickles. Diet Coke."

The clerk quoted a price and asked me to pick up my food at the next window. I had hoped the order would give Eric time to cool down, but it seemed to have the opposite effect: he looked apoplectic. For a few seconds, it actually worked in my favor, because he was too upset to speak.

Then he found his voice. "If you did what I think you did, Victor Madden will be at that hovel of a motel in less than ten minutes, so hurry up and tell me what happened unless you want to plan Sam Merlotte's funeral." He was using last names; he was obviously furious.

I didn't appreciate Eric's intimidation tactics, but I understood his urgency. "I broke in to access to Felipe's financial records," I said, then paused to consider how much I was willing to piss him off. I decided to risk it and go whole hog. "I couldn't have done it without Quinn."

Not to state the obvious, but Eric hated Quinn. The crux of it went beyond petty jealousies: Quinn helped engineer the takeover, however unwillingly, and weirdly, Eric seemed to hold that against him more than say, Felipe, who was its driving force. My own private theory was that it was because Quinn wasn't a vampire and also that he'd been forced to betray people in Louisiana; Felipe, for example, had never been on the old regime's side.

What it all amounted to was I wouldn't kid myself into hoping that Eric would think twice about mopping up Quinn and using him as a dishrag the next time they crossed paths. I couldn't control what Eric did, but I wanted him to know Quinn had earned my forgiveness, at the very least. Maybe I could set an example. "Quinn let me into Felipe's office and helped me go through his files," I said. "He knew I was doing it to help you."

Eric was silent as I pulled up to the delivery window, which was probably the best reaction I could have hoped for.

I rolled down our window. "Three-seventy-two," said the woman behind the cash register. I handed her my money and she gave me a steaming bag of food. Eric held it for me as I pulled the car into the back corner of the Burger King lot.

Eric handed me my food after I put the car in park and shut off the engine. I ate a French fry, then another. I felt famished. "Did you speak to anyone, other than Quinn?"

"The desk clerk and Sam," I said. "Sam's family. Quinn and I left everything as we found it. I don't think they could have known I was there."

Eric looked grim. "You are my asset."

"I know. I saw your reports," I said. "You've been paying Felipe for work I haven't done."

Eric's eyes flashed. I felt annoyance flare in the bond and knew he was far from thrilled that I'd found out. Why, I wasn't sure. Maybe it was because he was so weirdly controlling everything had to be a secret.

"No," he said. "That's not what I mean. You are my asset. Victor will think I sent you. It's tantamount to a declaration of war." Eric looked miserable. "As far as Victor knows, you obey me in all things."

I tried not to laugh. Eric was so upset I knew he wouldn't take it the right way. "He's seen us, right?" I said. "I mean, Victor's a smart guy. He has to know I kind of do my own thing." When Eric shot me an exasperated look, I added, "Whatever you might tell him."

"This is the wrong approach," Eric said, slow, as if speaking to a child. His tone made me bristle. "You say this in front of Victor, he will see it as an invitation to take over your care."

"I don't need a caretaker, buddy." I appreciated that Eric was trying to look out for me, but boy, did his words sting.

"I know," Eric said. Seemingly overcome by some emotion, he threaded his fingers through my hair and kissed me then and there. At first I wasn't really into it, but his lips made a persuasive argument. By the time I realized he was trying to apologize without apologizing, I couldn't bring myself to mind. My French fries fell on the floor of the Lincoln and I let them go. I still had my burger and more importantly, I had Eric. My heart was thudding.

I broke away, breathing heavy. "We'll be okay."

"Yes," he said.

I felt guilty. _We'll be okay_ was one of those things you say automatically, even if you don't believe it. I hoped we would be okay, but at this point, I didn't know if it was possible. I could tell, by the look in his eyes, that he felt the same way.

He broke the silence. "I'll tell Victor I sent you." He made it sound like a death sentence.

"If they find out."

"When," Eric corrected. He was in a mood tonight.

I understood why he was upset. Eric wanted to negotiate from a position of power. Breaking and entering made us look weak, which was exactly what we were. Victor had played his pieces well over the past week. We had been backed into a corner.

I scrounged for anything that could help us. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Eric stared at me, probably unwilling to expend energy confirming what I already knew to be true. "So maybe you should stay incognito and I'll say I acted alone." If it came to that.

"No," he said. "If they think you are here unprotected, they will never let you leave Vegas."

"That's where you come in." I was grasping at straws, but I had to spin something. "Victor thinks you're gone. I get to close him, maybe close enough to stake him. Then you—"

"No," Eric said.

I took a bite of my burger and studied him, waiting for him to explain himself. He didn't. He wouldn't meet my eyes, even though I knew that he knew I was looking at him.

Eric always had a plan, except for times like right now, when he didn't. In the last month, I'd come to realize that nothing scared him more. I had never seen him as unhappy as when I'd discovered him in his house the night Alexi snapped. He had been insecure, hopeless, even docile: the complete opposite of everything he usually projected to the world.

Seeing him now reminded me of that night.

I thought about telling him we were going to be okay a second time, but didn't. The false assurance would only piss him off—and although I'd take an angry Eric over a morose Eric any day—I held off because any words of comfort would just be a reminder of how far from 'okay' we actually were.

We had to do something. Sitting in this car was deadly. Eric was a methodical schemer and while I skated by on instinct, I knew that both of us felt better when we had a plan, no matter how far-fetched it was. We had to act. Eric was no help right now, so it was up to me to scrounge up options.

Since it seemed like my incursion into Felipe's casino could end up causing a boatload of trouble, I tried to fish something useful out of it. What had I been so excited about this afternoon? It had been less than an hour since I'd parted ways with Quinn, but it felt like days ago.

"I think Victor is framing you," I began.

He cut me off. "On that, we agree."

Normally I'd be annoyed at his interruption, but now, I was just glad that he was trying to take control of the conversation. It was characteristic of the Eric I knew and—against my better judgment—often loved. What I feared most was that he'd drop into that horrible stupor he'd been in the night Alexi decimated his home. I hated seeing him so miserable, and more importantly, I wasn't sure that I could support him if he insisted on becoming dead weight.

"Victor might be exposing one of his own businesses to implicate you." Eric didn't say anything. Either he disagreed or he knew something he wasn't telling me. Great. I kept pressing anyway, because somebody needed to keep the wheels moving. "I thought about it and decided that Victor would only get rid of something unprofitable."

For the first time since he'd woken up, Eric smiled. It's a mark of how desperate I was for any sort of reaction from him that I felt like a smile was a step forward. "Good," he said. Something like pride trickled through the bond.

I kept talking. "When Quinn and I went through Felipe's books, we looked for anything that lost money."

"And you only found it before the takeover," Eric said.

I must have looked surprised, because he smiled again. In fact, that was exactly what we had found. Area 1—New Orleans—had been losing money faster than a bad gambler just before Felipe came in.

A normal person wouldn't say something like that and then shut up, but of course, that's exactly what Eric did. I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice. "Eric, honey, you've got to give me more to work with."

He raised his eyebrows, probably at the 'honey,' but my sweet-talking convinced him to pony up. "Think." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. What did he _think_ I'd been doing? "Any information before the takeover comes from Felipe's spies. Afterwards, the spies become sheriffs and they suddenly have an interest in making everything look even keel. Reporting before the takeover is accurate, but afterwards," he shrugged. "I know for a fact Victor is losing hundreds of thousands of dollars, yet he cuts Felipe a check every month." He paused, then smirked. "Area 5 is still profitable. Even with our recent troubles."

Eric would never waste an opportunity to preen. It wasn't really the time, but at least the gloating made him seem more like himself.

"Area 1 lost money last year," I said. I was sure the evidence Quinn and I found in Felipe's ledger was somehow linked to whatever was going on now.

"Of course." Eric said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Katrina."

"Of course," I repeated. I felt beyond stupid.

Katrina decimated New Orleans, along with much of the Gulf Coast. The storm weakened Sophie-Anne to the point where Felipe was able to swoop in and steal her throne. And here I was, sure that the entries in Felipe's ledger had been indicative of a larger conspiracy.

Eric had knocked the wind out of my sails. He seemed to realize it and might have even felt guilty, because for once, he volunteered information. "Sookie, the storm made a difficult situation worse. After Sophie-Anne was injured—with Andre gone—there was no clear successor. Felipe could be good for Louisiana."

Eric's tone was sharp and it sent a chill down my spine. His implication was clear: Felipe could be good for Louisiana, once Victor was out of the picture.

Now Eric had started talking, there was a chance he might tell me more. Although I knew Victor had to be involved in our current problems and Sam had convinced me that at least some of the stories in the news were based in truth, I still didn't have enough information to put all the pieces together.

"Eric, do you know of anything similar to what they're talking about on TV? Brothels? Vampires who purposely hook humans on V?"

I wasn't sure that I wanted to know the answer. I knew Eric was involved with unsavory businesses, but I didn't want to believe he had known about anything as horrible as what they were accusing him of on the news. After all we had been though and—most importantly—considering what I knew of his history, I couldn't believe he had been involved, but I also knew better than to take any person's innocence for granted.

Eric was quick to say, "No." Too quick. He must have seen suspicion in my eyes, because he repeated himself. "No. Not specifically. But Sookie, you have to understand, for thousands of years—"

"Humans were food." We'd had this talk before. I didn't want to dwell on it any more than I had to. "If a vampire managed this kind of operation, do you think it would be more profitable before the Revelation or after?"

Eric considered it. "Definitely before, but that's because our business options were restricted. We could only cater to each other and we have," he paused to choose his words, "limited needs."

Eric looked out the window, seemingly lost in thought. It was relaxing not to know what was going on in his head, although I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder. Eric still looked grim. Again, his expression reminded me of that night when I found him sitting on his living room couch, helpless, after Appius abandoned him to find Alexi. "Sookie," Eric finally said, "I think it would take a very—special—individual to run the operation you're describing. Someone who would enjoy the day-to-day. Someone who liked pain."

I knew exactly what he meant.

"Someone like Andre?" I asked.

I said it before I thought it, but when I sat back, I knew I was right. Maybe it was the earlier mention of Sophie-Anne. Maybe it was just instinct. Or maybe it was the way Eric looked at me and almost smiled.

He opened his mouth to say something, but his phone rang first. He checked the caller ID.

"Who is it?" I asked. Other than Sam and me, only three people knew Eric was alive: Pam, Bill, and Mr. Cataliades.

I was surprised when Eric said, "It's Victor Madden."

I was even more surprised when he offered me the phone.


	20. Maxed Out

**Since it's been a while, here's a refresher: **

**Victor has framed Eric as the head of an illicit trafficking ring that kidnaps humans and provides them to vampires. Sookie suspects that Andre might be the real mastermind—but before she can think it through, Victor calls Eric. Somewhere in there, Sookie and Sam took a road trip to Sam's brother's wedding, which is scheduled for this evening.**

"We've been hiding it for months," Victor said. We had him on speakerphone. Eric's cell was perched in the cup holder.

When Victor called, Eric passed me the phone and asked me to tell Victor what I'd just told him, namely, that I suspected Andre was responsible for the crimes Eric stood accused of. At first, I thought Eric invited me to talk because he was impressed with my theory, but now that we were deep into the conversation, I realized he wanted the accusation to come from me in case it was wrong.

As it turned out, I was right. And it didn't even matter.

"It's barbaric," Victor was saying. "A relic. But what do you do with those people? They aren't worth turning and they can't go back to normal life."

'Those people' were the victims of Andre's scheme: humans force-fed V until they became 'willing' donors, among other things. I didn't know how far removed these men and women were from the Renfields Eric mentioned months ago. Judging from Victor's assessment, they seemed to be one and the same.

Victor could feign innocence, but I knew exactly what would happen to 'those people,' if it hadn't already. Eric gave me a warning look and I'm not proud to admit I kept my mouth shut.

"The prosecutors have been breathing down our necks for months," Victor said. "Felipe had to give them something."

The something was Eric.

"You sold us out." I knew I should watch my words, but I was too mad to stomach niceties.

Victor, on the other hand, was as unfailingly courteous as always. For some reason, his light tone made the bad news sound worse. "The evidence points to the old regime, so Felipe decided to make a clean break with Sophie-Anne's people. You're all that left, Eric. It's not personal."

Oh sure. If it wasn't personal, then I was the new poster girl for Fellowship of the Sun.

For his part, Eric was glaring at his cell like he held it responsible for the unwelcome news issuing out of its speaker. I was afraid he might break the phone, so I took it out of the cup holder and Eric's immediate reach. Eric shot me an angry look, but I didn't take it personally because he had a pretty good reason to be pissed. It's not every day your boss sells you down the river.

"Hello?" Victor asked.

I looked at Eric, but he shook his head. Too angry to say anything smart, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

"Hello?" Victor repeated.

"Yeah, we're here." I cast around for something to say that didn't start with a curse word. "You're not giving us options," I said finally, mostly to keep Victor talking. I wanted to squeeze as much information out of him as possible. As it stood, we had zilch to work with.

"You could stay finally dead," Victor said, continuing his annoying habit of answering my questions by addressing Eric.

I sighed. If Eric stayed 'dead,' as Victor suggested, he wouldn't be able to return to his businesses or Area (of course, that would suit Victor just fine). Eric also probably couldn't go back to Louisiana and, with all the media attention, he might have to leave the United States. That being said, it was an option, albeit an undesirable one. Everyone but Sam, Pam, Bill, Mr. Cataliades—and now, Victor—thought Eric was finally dead, burned to death with Fangtasia.

Our lives would be a lot simpler if Victor still thought Eric were dead. Unfortunately, he wasn't in the dark. And even more unfortunately, he had found out Eric was alive thanks to me.

As Victor had only been too happy to tell us, the misstep was a text I had sent to Bill around one pm this afternoon:

_Victor pinning his own crimes on you? Something to work with? Love, S._

I'd addressed the text to Eric, but added Pam and Bill as afterthoughts, both to loop them in and solicit help from all corners. Bill had been in on Eric's plan from the beginning. The night before we left Louisiana, Eric ordered Bill to tell Victor he'd been the one who burned Fangtasia. Eric wanted eyes and ears inside Victor's camp. Victor was all too happy to tell us that he'd seen through Bill's ruse. He also confiscated Bill's phone, which is how he discovered my text in the first place.

As for Bill himself, Victor hadn't given us any hints, even after I asked. I didn't know if Bill was in New Orleans or Vegas. I didn't even know if he was alive. Normally, I would have been mad with worry, but I felt so beaten down I could only muster dull dread. I tried to reach out to Bill through our old bond, but of course I felt nothing: the blood connection we'd once shared was long dead. All I got was a head full of rage, courtesy of Eric. His anger was so strong it made me dizzy—which pissed me off even more.

Victor—on the other hand—seemed gleeful. He was cheery laying out the business with Andre, cheery dodging my questions about Bill, and cheery saying he'd found us by dialing Eric's number on "a whim." I wanted to punch him. Thankfully for me, there was a phone and several thousand miles separating us. I knew if I actually attacked Victor, it would be far worse on me than him.

Victor had backed us into a corner. Something about it was bothering me and it wasn't just the very real possibility of defeat. I could understand why Victor might want to gloat, but why had he indulged the impulse? Why was he was bothering to tell us any of this?

As soon as I asked the question to myself, I was so consumed by it I had to come out and ask, "Why did you call?" I was trespassing on the rude side of my Gran's civility rules, but I was too fed up to play games.

If I were Victor, I wouldn't have talked to us. Period. Unless Eric or I cobbled together a last-minute scheme, Victor had successfully eliminated all of our options. He could sit back and watch any one of his numerous proxies—the DEA, the FBI, the Shreveport DA, the Texas State Police, Felipe, the entire news media, werewolf biker assassins, and so on—take us down.

In short, Victor had no reason to tell us anything, unless he was playing some deeper game. What were the odds of that?

"A thousand percent," I muttered, earning an angry look from Eric. He raised a finger to his lips and pointed at the phone, where Victor had still neglected to answer my question.

Make that 1001%.

"Miss Stackhouse," Victor said, and as soon as that pleasantry slid out of the cell's speaker, I knew he was going to deflect my question, "I feel that I owe you the courtesy."

The courtesy? Since when had vampires played by the rules of polite society? Did Victor think I was stupid?

Eric's lip curled. I offered him the phone but he shook his head.

"Courtesy of what?" I asked, since Eric seemed incapable of speech.

"Eric's history of service," Victor said. I rolled my eyes. "Felipe wants you to know you're doing him a great favor," Victor said. "Eric, we regret it, but—" You could almost hear the shrug coming across the phone. "The evidence points to Sophie-Anne's regime," Victor repeated. "Andre was implicated, but also finally dead. An unsatisfying target for public outrage. Felipe decided it would be best to break with her people."

So they'd thrown Eric to the wolves.

"Felipe hoped you would do great things together," Victor said. "That's a message from him. Directly." Victor knew better than to expect that an explanation would demoralize us into giving up. I still didn't understand why he had called. "Felipe will make sure your dependents are cared for."

Dependents? The word sent a chill down my spine. I looked at Eric, whose jaw was clenched tight as Portia Bellefleur's. I knew why: dependents meant me. Maybe Pam too. But definitely me. I was the one who stung—and the only one Victor really meant.

If I didn't know any better, 'dependents' sounded like a threat.

If Victor was trying to sell us on Felipe's plan, he wasn't doing a good job. Our only options were to submit and die, things that neither Eric nor I were particularly good at.

"Felipe asked me to apologize," Victor said.

Why did Victor keep harping on Felipe? I looked over at Eric to get a read from him, but he was too focused on the phone to notice me as Victor said, "Felipe regrets this. Truly. I tried to speak with him on your behalf, but—" He trailed off. "Well, you know him, Eric. He's the king."

That's when I realized why Victor had called. I was embarrassed it had taken me this long.

Victor was putting everything on Felipe.

He _was_ trying to sell us. Just not on the plan he was saying out loud.

"Victor, I get it," I said and Eric looked at me like I was crazy. "Quit it with the regrets. Consider it done."

Victor was quiet long enough to make me uncomfortable. I wondered if he was surprised I was speaking for Eric. Personally, I was surprised Eric hadn't jumped in himself.

"I don't leave allies hanging," Victor finally said.

The line went dead.

I looked at Eric. He stared at the phone like he was trying to smash it with his eyes. He grabbed it and just before he smashed it with his hands, I said, "You'll regret that when a call could save your life."

"I don't need a phone to call," Eric said. I realized he was talking about the bond—with me, or maybe Pam. I felt a little ill.

But he set the phone down anyway, unharmed. I relaxed. I'd take my victories where I could find them. I really didn't want to be picking cell fragments off the floor of the Lincoln. I had saved Eric's property. Now, I had to save his life.

"Victor wants you to kill Felipe," I said, hoping I hadn't misread the conversation.

"Yes," Eric said, reassuring me I wasn't crazy. Then he ripped the rug out from under me with, "What I don't understand is why you told him you'd do it."

"We'd do it," I corrected, feeling ill. "And I don't know that we have to keep our word—" I'd have said anything to get Victor to call off his attack dogs. What I'd done was given us space to breathe and regroup.

"You said consider it done. As far as Victor's concerned, it's your obligation." Eric paused and I didn't like the way his forehead creased. I could see the wheels turning—which rarely turned out well for me. "Better you than me, maybe. You could get close to Felipe." He didn't elaborate how and I wasn't interested in imagining. "He trusts you. You saved his life."

"I won't kill Felipe." It wasn't up for discussion. "Victor wants him dead. That's treason, right?" Eric shrugged, which was a yes as far as he was concerned. "So, we'll alert Felipe." It was a no brainer.

"Without proof?" Eric brushed me off. "No, it's safer if you stake him."

I felt cold and not only because I didn't want to do it. I hated that Eric could talk about murder so nonchalantly. I tried to keep my voice mild, but don't know if I succeeded. "I'd have to get lucky. How old is he?"

Eric shrugged. "I only suggest it because you have been so brave in the past." I wasn't going to let myself get sucked in. I couldn't look at him, so I stared out the window. "He wants you. He would be sloppy."

When Eric talked like this, it made me feel more like his asset than his woman. I almost said so, but stopped myself. I was afraid of what doors I might open. Instead, I stared across the parking lot at Burger King and envied the strangers moving behind the windows. I knew their lives weren't picnics, but there was a part of me that wanted to trade. It was silly, because even if I could, I wouldn't. I couldn't, in good faith, inflict my lot on any of them.

"What?" For once, Eric was curious about my feelings.

"Nothing." I had to build walls between us, or I was going to get hurt.

I had to get out of this mess first. I wouldn't kill Felipe, but Eric would be a dog with a bone unless I gave him a better option. "If you come clean to Felipe—"

"Unacceptable," he interrupted. "It's my word against Victor's. I'm captive to Felipe's favoritism. Too much risk."

"And me staking a vampire king isn't risky? Eric, it's ridiculous." I felt something hot on my cheeks and realized with a flush of embarrassment that I was crying. Eric didn't try to find something for me to wipe my eyes with, a small courtesy that would have been natural to Sam, Quinn or any normal person. He watched me as I used the back of my hand.

Eric let me sob myself out, then said, "You could do it." He paused, maybe to let that sink in, and pressed on. "His guard would have to be down. You could suggest—" Eric left the second part of sentence unsaid.

I dropped my head in my hands. I didn't want to kill anyone else. Even a vampire. And especially not how Eric was proposing. "We don't know Victor will keep his word."

"I'll take care of it."

"How?"

Eric shrugged. Then eyed me, expectant.

"I hate that you're asking me to do this," I said.

"But you will do it."

"I don't know." I wouldn't delude myself into thinking Felipe was an innocent, but recent incidents aside, he'd been fair to us. "Victor is the real problem." Whatever happened to Felipe, Victor had to go eventually or we would never be safe.

Eric said, "Yes." He looked unhappy.

"Join the club," I said.

"Which club?" He didn't get the idiom.

I shook my head and he didn't press. We looked out the front window. I don't think either of us had much more to say.

"I wish I could think of something better, Sookie," he finally said. "But I can't."

"It's a bad plan." If either of us succeeded in killing Felipe—and that was a big if—we couldn't guarantee that Victor would live up to his half of the bargain. I trusted Eric's intentions mostly and his sense self-preservation totally, but in the past week Victor had challenged us in ways I would have never imagined possible. Eric said he could make Victor honor a deal, but I wasn't so sure. Eric was a big subscriber to the repeating-something-until-it-becomes-true school. For him, bluster was a first step on the way to reality. Eric didn't lie, exactly, but he was given to macho overconfidence and I had to think twice before trusting every assurance that tumbled out of his mouth.

If I were Victor—and if we killed Felipe for him—I'd have us strung up as traitors. It would be the perfect excuse to kill us both, not that Victor needed one, considering the libel he'd been heaping on Eric.

"It's a bad plan," I repeated and Eric didn't contradict me, which was a victory in and of itself.

Eric rolled down his window and I did the same. It was something to do. After a few minutes of silence, I fired up the engine and backed out of the lot. On our way out, I dropped my half-eaten burger into a garbage can. Victor had killed my appetite.

I just drove. I didn't have a destination and Eric didn't seem to care. I couldn't head back to the Holiday Inn—it would only attract unneeded attention to Sam and his family—and I didn't want to go to the strip in case we ran across Felipe and his people. So I headed away from the skyline. Soon, I found myself winding aimlessly down flat streets crowded by flat strip malls.

"Turn," Eric said all of a sudden. I'm embarrassed to admit that I did, without looking. He had directed me into the parking lot of a jewelry store.

"Now's not the time," I said, expecting he wanted some kind of nookie-cum-nibble.

Eric ignored me. He pulled out his wallet and began thumbing through for cash. He handed me a wad that had to be several hundred—if not thousand—dollars. "What's the limit on your credit card?"

I told him and by the look on his face, I knew it was too low to be of much help in whatever he was planning. "You'll have to max it out," he said. "I can't give you mine." That set off my alarm bells. I knew I couldn't use Eric's card—he was wanted by every government agency with arrest powers—and if his cards weren't frozen, the feds would track any usage and find us in a hot second. But if Eric wanted me to blow my credit rating, I needed to know why.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Go in there and buy silver," Eric said. "Necklaces. Long ones. Long enough to tie a knot. And at least one set of earrings. Hoops. Something with a piercing."

"Why?" I didn't want to know.

Eric acted like he hadn't heard. "I'll reimburse you. Go."

I went, god help me. I walked into that store and I maxed out my credit card buying Eric stupid silver jewelry from a snooty sales lady who gave me the stink eye while ringing me up. It was probably the most money I'd ever spent in one sitting. Halfway through, I heard sirens outside and my heart almost stopped—I was sure it was cops coming to arrest Eric—until the clerk started grousing about a nearby speed trap.

When I walked back into the lot, holding a paper bag stuffed with half-a-year's salary worth of silver, Eric was leaning against the Lincoln, chatting with two paramedics. An ambulance—the source of the siren—was parked next to our car. As I approached, Eric said something to the paramedics, who retreated to their ambulance and sped away tout suite, sirens blaring.

Eric was still leaning against that car when I approached, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "You've got it?"

I showed him my shopping bag. "What did you do?"

"Called 911."

That much was obvious. "Why?"

He held out his hand. He was holding a square-shaped something made of backpack material. I unfolded it.

It was a body bag.

"We're going to kidnap Felipe," he said.


	21. Tough Love

**2 chapters left. Thanks to everyone- belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO.**

**Previously on: **

**Eric's on the lam, so he tags along when Sookie and Sam road trip to Sam's brother's wedding in Las Vegas. Once they arrive, Sookie breaks into Felipe's casino to find evidence to clear Eric. She finds Quinn instead, who is surprisingly helpful. Meanwhile, Victor tries to contract Eric to kill Felipe. Spitballing, Eric proposes that Sookie to do the deed, then reconsiders and decides they should kidnap Felipe instead.**

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* * *

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Eric and I waited in the 7-Eleven parking lot with our lights off, watching each car as it pulled into the lot. We sat in silence—too busy counting headlights to waste time talking. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably 30 seconds, Eric flicked on our car's engine to check the time. The electric clock flashed—7:59 pm. Eric killed the power. He was antsy.

"When did you call him?" Eric asked.

I couldn't remember. The last hour had been a blur. "He'll be here," I said. "But they've got him on a leash. He can't leave on a dime."

"A dime means quick?"

I nodded and Eric went back to watching cars. I watched him.

It would be an understatement to call Eric tense. He was usually cool under pressure, but tonight, he was wound as tight as I'd ever seen him. I could feel it in the bond and see it on his face. I couldn't be sure why our most recent mess was hitting him so hard, but the pressure had rarely been this unrelenting. He'd never been the target of a national witch hunt, for starters.

I reached across the seat and squeezed Eric's hand. "This is going to work."

"Yes." Eric kept his eyes glued to the road, but at least he squeezed my hand back.

To be honest, I wasn't certain that we could pull it off, but I believed we had a chance, which was better than where we'd been an hour ago.

Anything was better than the slapdash plan Eric tried to sell me on in the Burger King parking lot. I couldn't believe he'd asked me to kill Felipe and trust Victor. It made no sense. How could I kill Felipe? How could we trust Victor? I could chalk up the plan's flaws to Eric's desperation. As for its nastiness—well, Eric was a vampire. I wasn't exactly surprised that he expected me to kill, but that didn't mean I liked hearing him ask.

And it wasn't just the killing. Eric hadn't flat-out asked me to seduce Felipe and—considering his maker and his possessiveness—I doubted that he would have wanted or expected me to go that far. But he was a pragmatist above all else and knew as well as I did that there were limited ways I could get close to Felipe. Eric had wanted me to play my part in his plan and he didn't care if I wasn't entirely comfortable.

I knew Eric well enough to suspect that, in a weird way, he probably saw his request as a token of respect: he could count on me to handle myself. But whatever justification might have run through his head, it didn't make it feel any less disrespectful.

Eric probably asked this kind of thing of Pam all the time. Actually, he definitely did. She'd dated Amelia to keep tabs on me. And the chances that Pam just happened to be cozying up to a Shreveport police officer were nil. The similarity didn't make me feel great. For all their closeness, Pam was Eric's subordinate. And I wasn't. I knew that. I hoped Eric did too.

I knew Eric cared about me and I knew I was useful to him. But which one came first? Was I Eric's wife or his asset?

I couldn't answer that question by myself.

I looked at Eric. He was focused on the road, watching arriving cars like a guard dog. Part of me wanted to say something, even though I knew a talk wouldn't do us any good. Plus, I almost didn't want to know his answer. What if it wasn't what I wanted to hear? In some ways, he'd already answered: he had treated me exactly like he treated Pam. He cared about her—that was certain—but he also used her however it suited him. That wasn't a relationship I was interested in having.

Eric caught me staring. "What?"

At that moment, a black pickup rolled into the lot. As it passed us, I caught sight of twin bumper stickers: E(E)E and the World Wildlife Fund.

"He's here." I dodged Eric by hopping out of the Lincoln.

Quinn had parked a few cars down. He was getting out of the cab as I jogged up. "Thanks for coming."

"You okay?" Quinn pulled me into a hug. "You look-"

"Just tired." I cut him off. I didn't want to hear him say how worried I seemed. I already heard it in his thoughts.

I got on my tiptoes to hug Quinn back, but he stepped away as if he had been burned. His eyes fixed on a point over my shoulder.

Eric. Getting out of the Lincoln.

Time for damage control. "Hear us out."

Quinn acted as if he hadn't heard me. And maybe he honestly didn't. He was too invested in the alpha-male staring match. The rules were simple: Eric glared at Quinn. Quinn glared back. Neither would be the first to look away. I wasn't thrilled about the posturing, but at least they weren't tearing each other apart.

After a minute that felt like an hour, Eric nodded, stiff. A peace offering.

It was as much of an opening as I would get. "Quinn, we need your help."

Quinn shrugged. Noncommittal, but he'd listen. "Eric?" I prompted.

Eric stared at Quinn like he was measuring him up. I had to stop myself from voicing my frustration. If they were going to glare at each other forever, we could all just put a nice cursive signature on our death warrants.

"I'll help you come back to Area 5," Eric said finally. "Mississippi, whatever you want."

"If?" Quinn knew how vampires worked.

"The casino evacuation plan," Eric said. "Tell me everything."

* * *

Eric's plan was simple, and my role exceptionally so.

I picked up the payphone, balancing the yellow pages on my knee. I deposited my thirty-five cents and dialed.

The phone rang once. Twice.

"Sangria. Las Vegas's only vampire-owned casino."

"There's a bomb on the ground floor," I said. "You have twenty minutes."

I hung up, took a deep breath and dialed the number Quinn had given me.

Felipe's personal line.

It rang once. Then- a click- mid ring. Felipe had picked up.

I waited for the sound of his breath.

Nothing.

But, of course, there wouldn't be. He was dead.

"Yes?" I recognized his voice, the touch of an accent.

"Message at the front desk," I said.

I hung up.

I collapsed against the side of the phone booth. My heart was beating so fast.

And that was it. My part of the plan was over.

As I said, it was simple.

Eric had based our plan around one idea: if you can't get to the King; have the King come to you. After Rhodes, any vampire took a bomb threat seriously. Eric was smart enough to realize that if he had an emergency exit plan at Fangtasia, Felipe certainly did in his multimillion-dollar casino.

"I don't know specifics about Felipe's evacuation," Quinn had said as we clustered around the back of his pickup at the 7-Eleven. "They don't trust me."

I happened to be looking at Eric then, who kind of smirked, as if he couldn't blame 'them.' Eric was many things, but gracious was not one of them.

"I know Felipe travels in a black car." Quinn said. "Audi."

"Could you point out the driver?" Eric asked.

Quinn shrugged. "Maybe."

Quinn's 'maybe' turned into a 'yes' after we agreed to his terms. As much as I disliked Quinn's conditions, I didn't blame him for squeezing everything he could out of us. Quinn didn't have a good track record with Eric and we were asking him to put everything on the line.

Eric hoped to kidnap Felipe mid-evacuation, in between the casino and his destination, whatever it was. When Quinn mentioned the Audi, Eric ran with it. He thought a car was the perfect place to isolate and incapacitate Felipe. Why? It was mobile and only so many bodyguards could fit inside. Eric planned to take out Felipe's driver before I called in the bomb threat, so that he could be behind the Audi's wheel when Felipe evacuated.

Quinn estimated that Felipe's car would seat four people maximum—which left space for two guards, counting a driver and Felipe. The guards would likely be vampires, which could be a challenge, but Eric felt confident thanks to his age. He didn't waste the opportunity to let us know that he had a few hundred years on Felipe. It only made me feel marginally better. Eric was tough, but Felipe was a vampire king for a reason. I tried to focus on the glass half-full: Eric would have the element of surprise on his side and he wanted to conscript Quinn to ride shotgun as backup.

Eric outlined the plan to us as we stood in the 7-Eleven lot. It could work, but failed to inspire total confidence, mostly because I knew he was making it up as he went along based on Quinn's tip: after Quinn and Eric took out the guards, they would incapacitate Felipe, chain him with the silver I'd bought, and stash him in the body bag for safekeeping. Then Eric would drive the Audi out of town, leave ash and some of Felipe's personal effects inside and total it, creating an instant crime scene. I made Eric promise not to kill Felipe's driver. I knew better than to ask about the guards.

Meanwhile, Quinn would transfer Felipe to his pickup and take him somewhere safe, where both Eric and I would meet him. Eric hadn't wanted to leave Quinn alone with Felipe, but since he couldn't be in all places at all times—and since Quinn was incapable of totaling a car and walking away whole—it was a necessary evil.

"Your sister lives north of the city?" Eric had asked Quinn, seemingly offhand, after he realized he'd have to leave Felipe unattended.

Quinn acted like he hadn't heard him, but his jaw clenched. I didn't say anything, but I could have killed Eric.

It was up to me to find a safe place where we could stash Felipe. As a visitor to Vegas, I was at a loss, but as far as my problems went, it was an easy one. I could start with places that wouldn't work: we couldn't hole up at the Holiday Inn and we certainly weren't going to crash Sam's brother's wedding.

"We don't want to kill Felipe," I told Quinn, "but Victor needs to think we did." When Quinn looked unconvinced, I pressed on. "It will give us time to bargain and watch Victor. Hopefully, he will prove our point."

"That Eric's innocent?" Quinn said, with more than a little sarcasm.

I pretended not to notice. "That Victor's disloyal. A backstabber."

"And if Victor doesn't slip up?"

Quinn had pinpointed our weak spot. Eric, who was letting me do most of the talking to Quinn, shrugged. "Well. Felipe's a big bargaining chip," I said. We'd cross that bridge when we came to it. The plan wasn't perfect, but we had to do something. Perfect is the enemy of the good, my Gran had used to say. Things had gotten so bad, perfect was the enemy of staying alive.

After Quinn set his terms and we all agreed, Eric handed him a 7-Eleven bag, which contained a quarter of the silver from the jewelry store. I'd parceled it out myself, just before I went into the convenience store and bought Eric gardening gloves so he could handle the rest of it. "Meet me in the casino's garage," Eric said to Quinn and, as far as I knew, that's exactly what they had done.

But first, Quinn insisted on pulling me aside, for all the good it would do, because Eric could overhear anything we said.

"You trust him?" Quinn had asked, nodding at Eric.

I did, but I didn't know if Quinn should. I tried to find a reasonable guideline. "If he says something, he'll stick to it."

Quinn eyed Eric, who was fiddling with his phone, pretending not to listen to us. "I don't like this."

"So what?" I said. "How you are now, it's no way to live." Maybe I was being harsh, but I didn't say it just because I wanted Quinn to help us. He had to get out from under Felipe's thumb. His position was worse than a servant. I had no idea what the Vegas vampires actually employed Quinn to do, but I was sure it wasn't healthy. And- heaven forbid- but what if anything happened to him? Felipe wouldn't hesitate to collect Quinn's 'debt' from his sister.

I didn't need to tell Quinn any of this. He knew it. He'd lived it. He had to escape. Eric and I might be a risk, but we at least gave him an exit strategy.

Even so, Quinn drove a hard bargain. Thanks to his conditions, I'd be tackling a challenge of my own while Quinn was helping Eric wrestle Felipe into that body bag.

Which reminded me. I had to call Frannie.

I scrounged another 35 cents out of my pocket and picked up the pay phone.

Frannie picked up after the fifteenth ring or so. "What?"

I was used to Eric's poor excuse for phone manners, so I didn't take it personally. "Frannie, this is Sookie Stackhouse."

She hung up.

I had to redial three times before she answered. "Stop calling me."

"Quinn wants you to go to the Holiday Inn on Flamingo."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you think," I said, "as long as you show."

Then I hung up, because I suspected that Frannie was the kind of girl who responded best to tough love. I had no doubt that she'd meet me. I'd piqued her curiosity. And she'd do anything for Quinn.

I did think twice about sending Frannie to the Holiday Inn where Sam's family was staying, but thought thrice quickly- what damage could an 18-year-old girl do? It wasn't as if she'd be tailed by a bunch of vampires. Besides, I didn't have anywhere else safe to send her.

And if something happened to me, I could count on Sam to get Frannie back to Quinn.

What could happen to me, you might ask? A hell of a lot, because Frannie was part one of a twofer deal.

"If they suspect me, my family will be the first target," Quinn had told Eric and me. Their safety was his condition.

So, to earn Quinn's help, I'd agreed to spring his mother from her coop.

I stepped out of the phone booth and surveyed the building across the street. Out front, a rickety sign swung from a rickety peg.

_Red Rock Retirement Home. 9-5._

Visiting hours were over.


	22. Hitched

"Your son and I are getting married." I squeezed Quinn's mom's hands. "Tonight."

Okay. That was one whopper of a lie.

Saying it out loud made me feel pretty low, but I had no other ideas of how to spring Quinn's mom from her rest home on such short notice. Believe me, I'd thought about it. And then thought some more. I couldn't tell her the truth—that Quinn wanted her moved for her own protection. She would get upset, which was the last thing I wanted, not least because she was unpredictable, unstable, and could shift into a tiger at will.

"If my mother thinks something's wrong, she'll try to help," Quinn had told me when we conferred at the 7-Eleven earlier in the evening. "That would be good for nobody."

So—inspired by Craig and Deidra's real wedding, also scheduled for tonight—I'd suggested that Quinn and I tell his mother we'd decided to get married. The fake wedding hit all the bases: it was 1) a spontaneous event that 2) forced Quinn's mom had to leave her rest home and 3) explained my sudden presence in Quinn's life.

Eric hadn't said anything against the idea, probably because the lie served his purposes, but he'd looked particularly blank when I suggested it, which was never a good sign. As for Quinn, he planned to tell his mother the truth once we reunited later that evening. Quinn assured me that he could handle his mom if she got upset. I prayed he was right. From the stories I'd heard and the little I'd seen, she seemed to be nothing if not unpredictable.

I had to respect Quinn's wishes towards his mother, but I couldn't stop thinking that his insistence on breaking her out of the rest home was foolhardy and ill-advised. Quinn's mother needed 24-hour care, but as far as I knew, Red Rock was the only rest home in the country able to handle supes. What did Quinn plan to do when he left Vegas? Would he take his mother with him? Could she get care somewhere else? I really hoped he had thought that far ahead.

Even though I wasn't thrilled with our plan, I had to see it through. Eric needed Quinn's help and Quinn had to know his family was safe. If I could babysit Quinn's mom without anything going wrong, we had a chance at making it through this mess alive.

"It's great to see you again," I said to Quinn's mom, lying through my teeth. I tried to muster a genuine smile.

Quinn's mom looked wary. I didn't blame her. The last time we met, I had just broken up with her son. Now, I reappeared with news that the two of us were getting hitched. Any mother would worry. She looked for help from the nurse perched in the doorway.

The nurse—also a were of some variety, I couldn't tell what—beamed at us. Her name tag read Hernandez, but she had introduced herself to me as 'Deena.'

"Sookie's going to show you Quinn's note," she said to Quinn's mother.

I passed Quinn's mom the letter. Quinn had scribbled it at the 7-Eleven. Addressed to Deena, it explained our "whirlwind" marriage and gave me permission to check his mother out of her home for the night. The letter was probably the main reason Deena had swallowed my story and allowed me to see Quinn's mother after visiting hours.

Quinn's mom's brows drew together as she scanned the letter. "This is his writing."

I nodded. "You and I haven't really gotten a chance to know each other, so I thought I could pick you up."

Quinn's mom stared at the note. She didn't acknowledge me. "You've read this?" she asked Deena.

As Deena smiled and nodded, I caught a taste of her thoughts. She was pleased for Quinn. She thought he had a sad look whenever he visited and hoped he would find some comfort in marriage. I struggled to shut her out. Her thoughts were well-meaning, but they made me feel guiltier than a lapsed church lady.

Quinn's mom crumpled the note in her fist. Before I could blink, Deena was at her side. She put herself in between Quinn's mother and me. I only noticed because she thought it. She was shaping up to be quite the broadcaster, especially for a were.

"A wedding?" Quinn's mom said to Deena. "It's too soon." I might as well have not been in the room.

I agreed with her—privately—but knew better than to say anything.

Deena stroked Quinn's mom's shoulder before turning to me. "Maybe you should—" She thought _leave her_, but I cut her off before she could suggest it.

"We can't get married without her there."

"If she could ride with Quinn—"

"He's already at the church."

"Then Frannie?"

"She's with him," I lied. "There's only me."

"Why?" Quinn's mother asked. It was the first time she'd spoken to me directly. It was also a very good question. "Why just you?"

Because there was no real wedding. "Because I asked them to stay behind," I said. "I wanted to talk to you myself. Spend some time together."

Deena opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. I saw a tiger in her thoughts.

My mouth went dry, but I said, "I can handle it."

Deena's eyes narrowed. "Handle what?"

I froze. She hadn't said anything. I'd responded to her thoughts alone. It had been years since I'd tripped up like that. My nerves were getting the better of me. As Deena's question still hung unanswered, I thought fast.

"Handle marriage," I said. "Maybe this is quick, but you know it when you know it." I folded my hands and tried to act ordinary. Maybe Deena would forget my mistake, make excuses. Lots of people did.

Instead, she gave me a hard look. I stared right back. She might not have been on to me exactly, but she definitely knew something was up. Maybe she'd heard rumors.

After a silence that felt painfully long, Deena cleared her throat. "Why don't I come with you?" she suggested, voice mild. "Just to help out until you meet Quinn." She was still thinking about that tiger, but I breathed a sigh of relief. She had either pushed the incident aside, or chose not to say anything. Probably the latter.

Even after my misstep, I wanted Deena to come along. God, did I ever. I didn't have a death wish and the prospect of spending an hour alone with Quinn's mom was enough to make me want to run far and fast. But from the little I'd seen, Deena seemed like a nice person. I couldn't let her anywhere near Felipe's kidnapping, even tangentially. If something happened to her, just because she'd tried to do good—well, it was better not to place her in that kind of danger.

"Thanks," I told Deena and meant it. "But we're family now." I reached over and patted Quinn's mom on the knee. She flinched and I wondered what I was getting myself into. "We've got to stick together."

* * *

"Congratulations," Deena said as she shut the passenger door on Quinn's mother. She grabbed my hand as I walked around to the driver's side. "Are you sure about this?"

I nodded and tried to tamp down on my fear. "How is she, really?"

"Okay," Deena said. "She's better if you stick to one plan. Just—no surprises."

"No problem," I said, even though it really was. "We're headed straight for the church." Sometime during this visit, I'd lost count of my lies, but this was the latest. We were headed to the Holiday Inn, to pick up Frannie, then a safe house, then who know what. Maybe there would be a church in there somewhere, but Quinn and I were certainly not getting married in it.

"Good." Deena smiled. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," I said, trying to look happy.

As I pulled away from the curb, I watched Deena wave goodbye through the Lincoln's back window. My heart pounded faster the further I drove. When I looked at Quinn's mother, I felt very alone and, honestly, scared. I might have been imagining it, but I felt like the air around her was crackling with restless, angry energy.

An electronic beeping shattered the silence. I jumped. A bomb?

"Seatbelt," Quinn's mom said, snapping her own into place.

I let out a breath. In my nervousness, I'd forgotten to buckle up. "Thanks," I said as I drew the belt across me. Quinn's mom watched intently as I locked myself in. The beeping stopped.

"What happened to your trunk?" It took me a second to realize she was talking about the gaping hole in the back of the Lincoln. She must have seen it as we walked to the car.

I couldn't come up with anything but the truth. "A vampire clawed his way out."

I braced myself for her reaction. Luckily, she smiled and looked at me with what appeared to be respect. "You trapped a vampire?"

"Sort of." It was halfway true. Eric had more trapped himself. Voluntarily. Which negated the trapped part, but never mind.

She laughed. "John will like that story."

"Really?" I was pretty sure Quinn would be happy if I never mentioned vampires again, but I wasn't about to correct his mother. From the smile on her face, it seemed as if I'd inadvertently stumbled across a safe conversation topic: vampire abuse. As in abuse done to vampires, not the other way around. I knew there was no lost love between Quinn's family and the Vegas vampires—or me and the Vegas vampires, for that matter—but I didn't want to talk about vampires in the same breath as violence and tempt fate.

Quinn's mother smiled, oblivious. She seemed to be warming up to me. "What did the vampire say to his new friend?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

"It's a joke," she said. "What did the vampire—"

"I don't know," I said, even though I'd already heard the punchline in her head.

"Pleased to eat you." I forced a smile while she laughed and kept laughing, harder than normal. I tried not to look directly at her. At least she seemed happy. I hoped laughter was a good sign. "Pleased to eat you," she repeated, voicing my current fears without even knowing it. Then, laughed out, she leaned back in her seat and appeared to relax. I couldn't follow suit. My knuckles were white against the steering wheel as she rolled down her window and stuck her face into the wind.

We stayed that way for a while. Quinn's mom liked the breeze and soon she flicked the radio on, blasting the loudest top-40 girl rock she could find. I didn't care for the music, but it relieved the burden of having to talk. I was afraid I'd trip up and say something that would set her off. If she shifted, I figured I would have five seconds warning, if that. I almost regretted it when my phone buzzed and I had to dial down the volume to answer.

Quinn's mom gave me a look. She didn't seem angry, but it was hard to tell.

"Hi Sookie." It was Sam. "Did you send a teenage girl to our hotel?"

"Um." I glanced at Quinn's mom. She was listening with interest. I didn't know how much she could overhear, but I was willing to bet that—as a were—she had better hearing than I did.

"She's asking for you. And Quinn," Sam said.

Quinn's mom perked up. She could definitely overhear.

"She's Quinn's sister," I said.

"Frannie?" Quinn's mom asked.

"Yes," I told her, as Sam said, "Who's that?"

"I'm with Quinn's mother," I said.

Dead silence on the other end of the line. I couldn't remember if I'd told Sam about Quinn's mom, but judging from his reaction, I must have mentioned something.

"Where's Frannie?" Quinn's mom asked. She was starting to look agitated, which was the last thing I wanted.

"She's safe," I said, quick.

Sam started battering me with questions. "Is Quinn's coming by our hotel? What do I tell the girl?"

Quinn's mom blanched. "Where's Frannie?" The air around her was definitely crackling with something. I may have been just imagining it, but as she balled her hands into fists, I swore I could see her fingers curl and maybe lengthen. Like claws. "Frannie's not at the wedding?"

As soon as she said _wedding_, I knew what I had to do.

What had Deena had told me? Stick to the plan. And what was our "plan," as Quinn's mom understood it?

"Sam, could you take Frannie to the church?" I said, hating myself for asking, even though I couldn't see any alternatives. "I'm still on my way to the wedding. Quinn's already there. We'll meet you."

The last thing I ever wanted was to bring trouble to Sam, Craig and Deidra. But I didn't have a choice. If I didn't keep Quinn's mom calm, I wouldn't just be risking my own safety, I'd be threatening the well-being of whoever ended up in her path. I knew I'd done the right thing when Quinn's mom relaxed in her seat. She expected to go to a wedding and that's what I was giving her.

I hated bringing danger so close to Sam's family, but I hoped trouble and the wedding party would pass each other like ships in the night. If stretching the marriage fiction kept Quinn's mother calm for another half hour, it was what I had to do. Plus, I knew I could keep the risks under control: it would in an in-and-out operation. I'd drive to the chapel, grab Frannie and leave. I would not let Quinn's mother out of the car. Craig and Deidra didn't even have to know we were there.

But then reality set in. Quinn's mom would be calm as long as she thought we were on our way to meet her children at a wedding chapel, but I didn't have a clue what she'd do when we drove away from the church with one child in tow and no marriage in sight. Maybe the reunion with Frannie would mollify her until we met Quinn and Eric? But what if it didn't? How would I explain leaving the wedding chapel? What if I said Quinn changed his mind and wanted to get married at a different church? No, that didn't sound like him. He wasn't fussy. Or maybe it was no church at all- maybe Quinn and I could decide on a justice of the peace wedding, last minute? Did that make any sense? Probably not. Plus, I could count on Frannie fighting me every step of the way.

I pushed panic aside. There was no use getting ahead of my problems. I already had enough to worry about.

If Eric were here, he'd tell me to concentrate on the problem at hand. Well, he would say it in less words and probably find a way to make it sound patronizing, but that would be his gist. I took a deep breath and tried to nail it down, like he would. Eye on the prize.

All I had to do was keep this wedding fiction spinning until Quinn finished Eric's dirty work and arrived to explain the truth to his mother. Buying time- while keeping other people, and myself, out of danger- was the full extent of what I needed to concentrate on. With that mindset, the justice of the peace diversion would work just fine. After picking up Frannie, we would drive to city hall. Maybe I could get "lost" along the way, which would take up another hour, and if Quinn and Eric weren't done by then, I'd probably be dead of exhaustion anyway.

"Sookie?" It was Sam. In all my worrying, I had forgotten I was on the phone.

"Um, sorry," I said, and it wasn't just about the long silence. "I really am sorry, Sam." I said, and meant it. Unfortunately, with Quinn's mom listening, I couldn't explain any of the extenuating circumstances, leaving Sam to wonder if I actually planned to bring a clinically insane shifter to his brother's wedding as my plus one.

He was silent. I felt like the worst friend in the world.

"Please drive Frannie to the church." I didn't want to sound too desperate, because Quinn's mother was still eavesdropping. "Quinn and I will owe you one."

Sam must have figured something was up, because he didn't say anything but, "Okay."

He hung up. I breathed a sigh of relief, but when I pulled up to the next stoplight, I realized that I had no idea which direction I should turn. I didn't know where the church was located. I also knew that it wouldn't be a smart idea to let Quinn's mom know I didn't know.

So I did something I had vowed never to do: I pulled out my cell and started to text while driving. _Where's the church? _I asked Sam.

"Just telling Quinn to pick up extra flowers," I said as I felt Quinn's mom staring at me. She was nosier a Bon Temps gossip. I wondered if she was a little paranoid. Or maybe she just had an intense interest in the world after being locked up for so long. I could hardly grudge her that.

I still wanted this nightmare drive to be over.

"Tell John to get tiger lilies," Quinn's mother suggested. I was surprised she had an opinion.

"Okay," I said, pretending to text Quinn while randomly pressing buttons on my phone.

My cell buzzed. Sam. _Hoover st and Vegas Blvd. South strip. Be careful._

_Be careful_ made me smile. _You too_, I typed back.

"Quinn's on it," I lied.

Quinn's mom smiled and ramped up the volume on the girl rock.

I had to make a U-turn to go in the direction of the wedding chapel. Quinn's mother and I weren't a half block further down the road before my phone buzzed again. I looked at it.

Eric.

Jesus.

This time, I didn't turn down the girl rock. What Quinn's mom didn't hear couldn't hurt her. Or me. I flipped open the phone. "You okay?"

I heard a scream on the other end and screeching tires. The phone went dead.

I hit redial. My hand was shaking so much I had to punch it three times before the call clicked through.

This time, Eric answered, thank god. I heard tires screech again. He was driving. Fast. "I need you to see to Quinn."

I didn't like the sound of that. But I bet Quinn's mom wouldn't like what Eric had to say even more—and she was eyeing the phone with interest. "One second." I said.

One second was more like 30 as I pulled into the shoulder, parked the Lincoln and got out. I left the music on and even turned up the volume. I didn't want Quinn's mother overhearing. Or turning into a tiger. Mostly the latter, but I was afraid the former would lead down that road. I held up a finger to Quinn's mom and mouthed, _One minute_. Thank god, she nodded and didn't try to get out of the car. Maybe we were friends now. I sure hoped so.

My heart was pounding as I turned my attention to Eric. "Is Quinn okay?"

"He's hurt. I can't take care of him. I have to crash Felipe's car."

I tried to keep panic out of my voice. "How hurt?"

"Bad."

Bad by Eric's standards was terrible by anyone else's. Quinn had to be near death. "Take him to the hospital. Forget the car."

"No."

I felt hysterical. "Then give him your blood."

Eric hung up.

I wanted to scream. Instead, I called him back. It went straight to voicemail.

I called again. Voicemail.

I called a third time. I heard a click and knew he'd picked up, but I didn't give him the chance to speak. "If he dies, I will never forgive you."

"That's unfair and untrue," Eric said. "You have to take him to the hospital because I will be arrested."

He had a point, but I was otherwise engaged. "I need to take his mother to Frannie so she doesn't shift and you know what." I wouldn't say the worst-case scenario out loud and jinx myself. "Which she will, if she sees Quinn hurt." Eric was quiet, probably because I was right. "Give him your blood. Please."

Under normal circumstances, I would have never asked.

Eric didn't say anything.

"I don't want him to die." My voice wavered. It sounded thick and choked, even in my own ears.

Eric finally broke the silence with, "I have Felipe."

I didn't know what to say. I wondered if he was trying to change the subject.

"Sookie?" he asked.

"That's good." I managed. It was all I could do. I was still thinking about Quinn. "Eric—"

"Where are you taking her? The mother?"

"Sam's wedding." I said. " Frannie's there. I'm picking her up, then dropping them somewhere safe," and yet-to-be-determined, god help me. "I'll find you."

"Good," he said.

"I'll be—I don't know—an hour." I didn't want to imagine the extent of Quinn's injuries, but an hour seemed forever away. "Look after him."

Eric hated it when I bossed him around, but I could care less. Quinn had been wounded helping Eric, so his wellbeing was Eric's responsibility.

"Promise me," I pressed.

He was silent. I wished Eric would breathe, just so I'd have something to listen to.

"Yes," he finally said, and hung up.

I didn't need the bond to know he was livid.

"Who was that?" Quinn's mom asked, when I got back in the car, feeling shell-shocked.

"My boss," I said. "Vampire sheriff." Being a were and having some experience with the Vegas vampires, I figured she would understand what I meant.

"He mentioned John."

"Offering his congratulations," I said, as I pulled onto the road.

From there, it was 20 minutes due south to the address Sam had sent me. On the way, Quinn's mom and I had passed a handful of nice looking white chapels as well as a few monstrosities painted in pastel colors better suited to birthday cakes, party dresses or Sunday hats. When we pulled up at the corner of Hoover and Vegas Boulevard, I was disappointed that the church Craig selected was of the Sunday hat variety.

The chapel, if it could even be called that, was a pink stucco building with a lopsided bell tower. A handful of scraggly palm trees clung to life at the edges of the parking lot. The neon sign out front featured a cartoon of a man in a tux—the groom, I guessed—turning out his pockets. It read:

**Alamo Wedding Chapel**

_His last stand._

"You're kidding," I said, to no one in particular.

Talk about a bad omen.

There was a knock on the driver's window. I looked over. It was Deidra. In a white dress.

"You made it," she said, beaming.


	23. The Alamo, Part 1

I wished, beyond logic, that Quinn's mom wouldn't notice Deidra or the white dress, but since I lived in the world as it was and not as I'd like it to be, she looked out the window, frowned, and asked, "Who is that woman?"

I had no idea what to say.

I started with the truth. "Her name is Deidra." Then I fixed on the lie-du-jour, "She's my maid of honor."

I braced myself for a meltdown, but Quinn's mom was still, eyeing Deidra like she was some kind of curiosity. Deidra beamed at us, oblivious. Finally, Quinn's mom nodded. "Maid of honor," she repeated. We were safe.

I missed my Gran every day, but I was thankful, at least, that she couldn't see me now, following lie upon lie. I didn't know what I disliked more: that I had to keep doing it or that I'd gotten so good at it. I pushed the thought away. Sour grapes were a luxury I couldn't afford. I had roped in Quinn's mom. Now, I had to make sure Deidra got with the program.

I cranked down the window and forced a smile. "Guess what?" I said. "I'm getting married too!"

Deidra squealed, to my immense relief. I had figured my 'news' could go over one of two ways—either she would be jealous I was stealing her thunder or she'd be over the moon that everyone in her immediate sphere was finding love. From the way she grinned and clapped her hands, I figured it was the latter. "Really? To who? Sam?"

I forced a laugh, as if Deidra had made a joke. "Sam? You're funny."

Quinn's mom growled. I told myself that she could have just been clearing her throat. Power of positive thinking.

"No, really," Deidra said. "Who are you marrying?"

"My boyfriend. John Quinn."

Deidra looked confused. "Who's Quinn?"

"You met this afternoon."

"The big guy?" I nodded, hoping she didn't mean Eric. "I thought he was your ex."

"Not anymore."

Deidra squinted as if she couldn't believe what I was saying. "You're serious?"

"Deadly." I glanced at Mrs. Quinn from the corner of my eye, half expecting her to call me on my B.S. Her face was blank. I couldn't tell if she had bought my story. Since the conversation wasn't going well, so I reverted to my Gran's favorite weapon: politeness. "Deidra, I'm so rude," I said. "This is Quinn's mother."

Deidra's eyes lit up. "Hi." She leaned into the car to shake Quinn's mom's hand. "Congratulations."

After a few awkward seconds, Quinn's mom accepted the handshake. "Are you also getting married?" she asked, eyeing Deidra's white dress.

Deidra beamed. "Yes ma'am. Tonight. Craig and I kind of eloped, so we don't know anyone in Vegas. You should stay for the ceremony."

Staying for the ceremony was the last thing Quinn's mother should do. I tried to think of how best to say no when the church's front door swung open. Sam ran into the parking lot. He was a welcome sight. I'm always happy to see Sam, but I couldn't think of a time I've needed him more.

"I'll be right back," I told the ladies. I hopped out of the car and raced towards Sam, hoping I could intercept him before he was within earshot of the other two.

As soon as he saw me, Sam slowed to a jog. He had changed into a suit. He looked dapper.

"I'm so sorry," he said, as I reached him. "I tried to keep her inside, but when I said you were coming—"

"Sam, I need you to lie for me."

My request took him by surprise. "What?"

"Say Quinn was here, he left to pick up flowers, and he'll be back in a half hour. Please."

Sam looked concerned. "Sookie, what's going on?"

"I have his mother in the car," I said. "She thinks Quinn and I are getting married—"

Sam had stopped looking worried. Now, he just seemed pissed. "What did Eric do?"

I glared at him. "You don't know it was Eric." The wedding lie had been my idea, although the reason for it was a problem of Eric's making. But either way, the last thing I wanted to do right now was fight with Sam about Eric. Or fight period. We didn't have time. "Look. I'll tell you later. Quinn's mom has to keep thinking the wedding is on, or—" It felt like a terrible omen to talk about the worst case scenario. "I'm sorry to put you in this position, but I wouldn't ask if I didn't have a good reason."

After a tense few seconds, Sam nodded. I knew he wouldn't let me off the hook, but he also wasn't one to leave a friend in a lurch.

Having explained as much as time would allow, I yanked Sam towards the Lincoln. I had visions of Quinn's mom attacking Deidra in her wedding gown, so I was relieved—and honestly, a little surprised—when I found them chattering like old friends. "Craig didn't want a DJ because it's just the four of us, but I thought it would be nice to have some kind of music—oh hi," Deidra broke off when she saw us. "Julie, this is Sam, my soon-to-be brother in law."

I looked around for a Julie then realized it had to be Mrs. Quinn's Christian name. I was a little ashamed I had never thought to ask.

Sam nodded, stiff. Quinn's mom gave him an appraising look. She sniffed. I wondered if she had a cold then figured out that she likely recognized Sam as a shifter.

"Quinn ran to the store." Sam said. He couldn't have sounded more unexcited if he tried. "Flowers."

Deidra pouted. "You knew about the wedding?"

Sam looked uncomfortable. "Quinn stopped by. You were getting ready."

I wanted to leave the wedding chapel as soon as possible, but I had to get Quinn's mom on my side. I leaned in the window to talk with her. "Speaking of Quinn, let's go meet him. Where's Frannie? We'll find her and help Quinn pick out flowers."

When Deidra said, "What? No," I wanted to strangle her. "You've got to get ready."

"I am ready. Where's Frannie?" I repeated, kind of hoping that Quinn's mom would pick up the refrain. "The three of us need to find Quinn."

"I'll grab her," Sam said and took off for the church. Quinn's mom leaned out the window to watch him go.

"Come on, Sookie," Deidra whined. "You can't get married in that." She looked at my everyday clothes with distaste. "They have plenty of dresses inside. You can rent and go. Does Quinn have a tux?"

"We're really more of a casual couple," I said, getting back in the car and sticking the keys in the ignition. As soon as Sam returned with Frannie, I would blast out of the lot, speed limits be damned. Mrs. Quinn hadn't said much. I was hoping that meant she was down with the plan.

"Not today you aren't," Deidra said. "You have to look nice. This is the most important day of the rest of your life—"

"Married?" I heard a bloodcurdling scream from the direction of the church. I glanced up to see Frannie racing across the parking lot towards our car, Sam a few steps behind her. He tried to grab her and failed. Deidra jumped out of the way as Frannie threw herself against the driver's side door. I had time to hit the automatic lock before she launched herself at my open window. I tried to crank it up, but Frannie grappled at the glass in an attempt to get at me—punch me, pull my hair—I didn't know what. "How could you? You're a lying, cheating—"

"Frannie, calm down." I tried to keep my voice even. "We're meeting your brother. He'll explain everything."

Sam pried Frannie off the glass and strong-armed her towards the back seat. She squirmed, kicked, and tried her damndest to wriggle free. I hit the unlock button so Sam could open the door, then almost screamed in frustration when Quinn's mom took the opportunity to get out of the car.

"Julie, come back," I called after her, but she ignored me, walked to the driver's side, and slapped Frannie right across the face.

Everyone stopped struggling.

Deidra gasped.

"Your brother's happy," Quinn's mom said. "Respect it." Then she walked straight into the wedding chapel.

I shut off the car and got out.

"Are you okay?" I asked Frannie. Her face was red and her eyes had welled with tears.

"I hate you," she said. "I know you're playing some game." With that, she turned on her heel and followed her mom into the church.

It killed me that Frannie was 100% right.

"Jesus." I slumped against the car. This was a nightmare. The last thing I wanted to do was bring Quinn's mom around innocent people. But how was I ever going to get his family out of the church? I couldn't force them, physically, and my lies were already so elaborate I had trouble keeping track of them. Right now the best idea I had was calling in another bomb scare.

Deidra patted my shoulder. I was beyond comforting, but appreciated her gesture nonetheless. "I had trouble with Craig's family too, at first," she said. "No offense Sam." Sam shrugged. Like me, he seemed too upset at what had just happened to fully concentrate on what Deidra was saying. "Now look where we are."

"Yeah," I said.

Look where we were.

The Alamo Wedding Chapel.

* * *

The front foyer of the wedding chapel doubled as a souvenir shop. If I so desired, I could buy a wedding veil attached to a ten-gallon hat or a T-shirt featuring a covered wagon and the tagline _Hitched_. I figured the Alamo name was part of a bigger western theme. Maybe a Texas expat ran the church.

I found Craig at the register, talking to an overweight man dressed as Bubba.

"Hi Sookie," Craig said. "This is Pastor Fred. He owns the place."

"You're a priest?" I said, trying to sound curious and not skeptical. I had never seen a pastor in a jumpsuit before.

"Church of the Loving Spirit." Pastor Fred said, pointing at a certificate over the register. It was framed like a diploma, but was definitely just a computer printout. "Craig says you're getting married. What package do you want? I got basic for 299.99 or deluxe at 500."

I had already maxed out my credit cards buying Eric silver to chain Felipe and, regardless, both packages were too much money to spend in the interest of a lie. I had to stall. "Can I wait until my man gets here? See what he wants?"

"Sure thing," said Pastor Fred. "I'll put you on the schedule. Right after Craig here?"

"That'd be great."

"If your timing changes, the whole evening's open," Pastor Fred said. "Not many folks get married on Monday night."

I had no idea it was Monday. After the craziness of the weekend, I had lost track of time. If our trip had gone according to plan, Sam and I would be back in Bon Temps by now. I had made plans to spend this night at Eric's in Shreveport. Now I wasn't sure I would ever see Eric's house, or my own, for that matter, again.

While I was busy being morose, Pastor Fred puttered away to adjust the ten-gallon hat display. Craig scooted down the counter until the two of us were kissing distance apart. I noticed his eyes flick down to my chest and I put a few extra inches between us. Breathing room.

"Which one are you marrying?" Craig asked. He had a half-smile on his face. I couldn't tell if he was leering or teasing me.

"Quit," I said, looking around for Quinn's family. "His mother is here."

Craig wouldn't stop staring at my boobs, even though I was still wearing Sam's shirt, which (obviously) wasn't low cut. "It's all good. I get your game. Take them as they come."

I stared at him, appalled. Then, I caught a wave of Craig's thoughts and they were even more suggestive. I almost laid into him—and boy, did I ever want to—but it's probably best that I never got the chance, because right then, I heard a scream and turned around to see Deidra. "Craig! Shoo. I said I didn't want to see you."

Craig gave me a sleezy smile and hightailed it.

"Bad luck to see the groom before the wedding," Deidra said by way of explanation, then shrugged, as if she were almost embarrassed of herself. I'd heard the saying as applying to the whole day of the ceremony and Craig and Deidra had seen each other for the better part of the last 24 hours, but I wasn't about to correct her, because I wanted him gone. As I looked at her standing there in her white dress, my heart ached a little bit. I'd never say this to Deidra since it wasn't my place, but I suspected that, over the long haul, no amount of superstition would save her marriage.

"Come on," Deidra grabbed my hand. "Let's find you a dress." I let her lead me in the hopes that we'd stumble across Quinn's mother on the way.

Deidra dragged me down the central aisle of the chapel proper. Lined with stained glass windows and filled with pews, it looked almost like a real church. A line of wooden folding chairs made up the front row of seats. They were for any extra guests, I assumed. As far as the ceremony itself, a little stage draped with tinsel stood at the front of chapel. A plastic cross leaned against the stage, next to a folding ladder. "I asked Pastor Fred to put the cross up for my wedding," Deidra said as she saw me looking at it. "You could keep it for yours, if you like."

"That would be nice," I said. If I were actually getting married, it wouldn't be to Quinn and it certainly wouldn't be in the Alamo wedding chapel, but in the alternate universe where this was happening, I'd want that plastic cross on the wall.

Quinn's mom and Frannie sat in opposing pews near the front of the chapel. They had identical sullen expressions on their faces. I would have been happy to leave them there—at least they were quiet and still—but when Quinn's mom saw me, she stood up. After a moment, Frannie followed suit.

Deidra led the three of us to the back of the chapel and into a low-ceilinged room stuffed with clothing.

"Sookie, what size are you?" she asked, parking herself in front of a rack overflowing with white ruffles.

"Eight. Maybe ten," I said, trying to be polite. "But I don't think—"

Deidra had already extracted a garment from the rack. It looked more like a cupcake than a dress. "It's perfect," Deidra said, running her hand over the poufy skirt. "You'll look like a princess."

I had trouble believing any rational person would wear such a thing. "I think we should go," I said. "Help Quinn buy flowers—"

"Sookie," Deidra pouted.

"Put on the dress," Quinn's mom said. Her eyes flashed.

What could I say to that? Nothing.

So I got dressed.

The dress looked like something a little girl would have wanted to get married in, so of course, Deidra loved it. Frannie, for once the voice of reason, rolled her eyes and said I looked like a marshmallow. I felt like I had lost an ally when she went away to sulk behind a rack of tuxedos.

Quinn's mom, on the other hand. cracked a smile. "John is very lucky," she said, and patted my arm. She obviously meant for it to be a friendly gesture, but my skin goosepimpled to her touch.

I forced a smile. I hated the stupid dress, but if it kept Quinn's mom happy, wearing it was the least I could do. Maybe I could leverage the costume into a little quid pro quo. "Let's go show Quinn," I said. "Take a drive. Plus, I'm nervous about those flowers."

Deidra laughed. "Stop worrying. Quinn will show. He's not going to leave you at the altar." Then she grabbed Mrs. Quinn's hand, something I had never had the courage to do. "Let's find you something to wear."

As they disappeared behind a rack, I sank into a folding chair and dropped my head into my hands. I had no idea what to do. I had told Eric I would meet him in one hour. The clock was ticking, but I had no idea how to convince Quinn's mom to leave the church.

Maybe if I told Frannie the truth, I could ask her for help? I stared at the rack of tuxedos. I could hear Frannie sniffling behind it. I wanted to come clean with her. It was the right thing to do and, beyond that, I was sick of keeping track of all the lies. On the other hand, I didn't know if I could trust Frannie to hear me out without making a big stink and alarming her mother.

I was just about desperate enough to approach her when the door opened and Sam walked in. It was such a relief to see a friendly face, that I ran across the room and threw my arms around Sam's neck. "Thank god."

He blinked, then frowned as he took in my dress. "Sookie. What's going on?"

I didn't have time to tell him much and the little I could say I kept need-to-know. My reticence wasn't because I didn't trust Sam—I trusted him completely—but I didn't want him getting hurt. "Eric needs Quinn's help. Quinn's condition was that I take his family somewhere vampires couldn't find them."

Sam frowned. "Isn't his mother—" He couldn't, or wouldn't, say 'insane,' but I met his eyes and we understood each other.

"I'm so sorry I brought her here," I said. "I lied and told her Quinn and I were getting married. It was the only way I could think to convince the nursing home to release her. I'll get her out of your hair. We're going to leave as soon as possible."

"I can't let you do that." Sam didn't look happy.

I was about to ask him why the hell not when a tinny version of 'Going to the Chapel' intruded on out conversation. Deidra ducked out from behind a rack of pastel ruffles and fished her cell out of a pink purse. I tried, and failed, to refrain from judgment. "Oh hi," Deidra said into her phone. "You're coming?"

I lowered my voice and turned to Sam. "I've got to get out of here. I'm taking them with me."

"No," Sam said. "You either stay here or I pay for Craig to postpone and come with you. If she shifts, you can't do anything. At least I can match her. " I glared at him. He glared back. "I don't care if you're angry at me."

"I am angry at you," I said. "Every second she's in this church, its more dangerous."

"If you go off with her on your own, you're an idiot," Sam said. "Sorry. I could just about kill Quinn for putting you in that position." His face darkened. "And Eric, for agreeing."

"One sec," Deidra was saying into her phone. She turned to us. "Sam, what's the address here?"

"Hoover and Vegas," he shot over his shoulder. He didn't look away, or give me one inch.

I wasn't happy about babysitting Quinn's mother, but I needed to defend the plan, slapdash as it might be. "We didn't have many options—"

I broke off as Deidra said, "We're at Hoover and Vegas," into her phone.

Sam and I exchanged a look. "Who is she talking to?" I asked. Sam frowned. He didn't know. That's when I started to worry. The last thing we needed was another unwelcome guest.

"See you soon." Deidra said and hung up. Before I had a chance to ask who had called, she beamed at us. "Eric can make it after all."

"Eric who?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. I just really hoped I was wrong.

"You're funny." Deidra said, confirming my fears as she ducked behind a garment rack to find Quinn's mom.

"How does Eric have Deidra's number?" Sam asked.

I didn't know. Eric's paranoia knew no bounds, but I doubted that he cared enough about Sam's human family to have bothered to stalk them before we left Louisiana. Maybe he'd asked Pam find Deidra's number. Or maybe he had picked it up when he glamoured Deidra at the Holiday Inn. All I knew for certain was that Eric hadn't called _me_ for the church's address, probably because he knew I wouldn't give it to him. I had thought Quinn's mom might put Sam's family in danger, but Eric—and all the people who wanted him dead—would take it to a new level.

I took out my cell and called Eric. It went straight to voicemail. I called again, with the same result.

When I lowered my phone, Sam looked at me, expectant.

"He's on his way," I said.

Eric needed to have the best reason in the world for stopping by the church. If he didn't, I wasn't just going to kill him: I would kill him, then bring him back to life, just so I could kill him again.

I felt like the hall monitor in high school as I waited for Eric to arrive. Sam and I sat together, glum, as Frannie got over herself and walked over to her mom to apologize. Then we watched Deidra and Frannie dress Mrs. Quinn in one of the bridesmaid gowns. They were all getting into the spirit of the wedding, even Frannie, who finally mustered up the courage to approach me. She offered me a spray of fake white flowers, "To go with the dress."

I hated encouraging the lie, but I wanted to keep the peace even more. I let Frannie pin the flowers in my hair. I was already wearing a wedding dress. What harm could it do?

"Sorry," she said when she finished. "I haven't been fair to you, Sookie. I'm glad you're doing right by my brother."

I couldn't say anything. I felt like crud. My Gran would not be proud of me right now. But I forced a smile.

Ten seconds after Frannie wandered back to her mom, I heard tires screeching outside the church. Anger, resentment, exhaustion and, strangely enough, excitement ran through the bond.

Eric was here.

I leaned over to Sam. "Keep everyone in the church." I nodded at Quinn's mom. "Her especially."

God bless him, Sam nodded. He squeezed my hand. "Be safe."

* * *

_**If all goes well, part 2 will be up before the end of the week. Thanks for reading. Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO.**_


	24. The Alamo, Part 2

**The white wedding awaits. Thanks for reading.**

* * *

I ran. I didn't care who saw me. Pastor Fred was doing a sound check as I tore through the chapel. The wedding march blared, as if from the heavens. Pastor Fred waved and when I didn't stop to talk, called, "In a hurry?"

"You got it," I said over my shoulder.

Pastor Fred shouted something about runaway brides, but I was already out the door.

I spotted Eric before he saw me. He was leaning into the back window of a car I didn't recognize, talking to a person I couldn't see. His back was to me. Normally, I'd take time to enjoy the view, but I was too angry to appreciate anything about him, even his very nice butt. I wanted to kick him. I was wearing heels, so I knew it would hurt.

Eric must have heard my shoes clacking, because he straightened and waved for me to join him.

As if there were anywhere else I'd be going.

The closer I got, the more steamed I became. "What are you doing here? I said I would meet you."

"I couldn't wait." He pointed inside the car. Now that I was close, I could see that it was an Audi. "Here. Read his mind."

I don't know what I'd been expecting, but that wasn't it. I was curious enough to look inside the car. I immediately wished I hadn't.

Eric had taken a hostage.

Really.

Somewhere between the 7-Eleven and the church, my boyfriend had kidnapped a middle-aged man, bound his hands and feet with electrical tape, and stuffed him inside a stolen car. I say stolen, because that's about the time I realized the mystery car probably belonged to Felipe de Castro. The hostage stared at me. Every inch of his teary brown eyes shouted for help. He couldn't literally shout because Eric had covered his mouth with tape.

Between the bond and my expression, I was sure Eric knew how upset I was. I was about to reinforce the message verbally when I heard a groan from the front seat.

Quinn.

I had to lean into the car to get a clear view. Quinn was slumped in the passenger seat. His skin was waxy. Even from this far away, I could tell that his shirt was soaked with blood.

I rounded on Eric. "I thought you healed him."

"He wouldn't take my blood." I must have really been glaring, because Eric scowled and said, "I am not a drink machine." I understood that Eric didn't give his blood lightly—although you wouldn't know it from how eager he was to slop it down my throat—but these were extraordinary circumstances.

Eric pointed to the hostage. "Read his mind."

I crossed my arms. "Give Quinn blood."

His eyes flashed. "The sooner you do as I say, the sooner you take your tiger to the hospital."

"I don't like you taking hostages."

"He was following me," Eric said, as if that was any justification. "I need to know who sent him."

I stared at Eric. "Really? That's what you're worried about?"

"Read his mind," Eric repeated.

I wanted to scream. "Eric. Everybody is following you. Maybe he's a reporter. Maybe he works for the government. Who cares? Your picture is on every news channel. Quinn is dying, Victor's hounding us, and you're worried about a doofus in a suit? Sorry," I apologized to the hostage. "I'm sure you're—," I stopped myself. I was going to say _a nice guy_, but if he had actually been following Eric, 'nice' likely didn't apply. What I did know is that I had called the hostage a doofus because I was mad at Eric, which wasn't fair to him.

I took a deep breath. I couldn't believe I was worrying about this when there were ten different ways we could all die in the next minute.

"Sookie. Listen." Eric's accent was coming out. He was angry. "Everybody thinks I'm dead. So I need to know why this one is following me."

The impatient, mean part of me wanted to ask Eric why he hadn't roughed 'this one' up to get his answer, but I knew better than to ask in case he actually took my advice. The thought sobered me up quick. While I wasn't happy Eric had come to the church, I was glad he brought the man to me, instead of the alternative. Before I ran away with myself and gave Eric a citizen-of-the-year award, I knew it was a question of expediency for him, not squeamishness. Simply put: my talents were more accurate than torture. Eric came to me because he wanted an answer, fast. He hadn't thought about how his presence might ruin Sam's brother's wedding. Or maybe he just didn't care.

As I leaned into the car, the hostage stared at me, wide-eyed. He tried to say something, but the electrical tape muffled it. I turned to Eric. "Get rid of the gag. Make him comfortable, at least." Or as comfortable as he could be under the circumstances.

"Why?" Eric said. "You don't need to hear him." I wanted to smack him and that must have come across in my expression, because he countered with, "How would you like it if he screamed?" He nodded at the church. "You can explain when they come running."

I was about to lay into Eric when Quinn groaned from the front seat. One look at him was what needed to get my priorities in gear. I might be hostage (har har) to Eric's stubbornness, but I had to stop dragging my feet. The sooner I made Eric happy, the sooner I could take care of Quinn. And the sooner this poor man could walk free.

I turned to the hostage. He looked so frightened, I groped around for anything to set him at ease. An introduction, maybe? It was the human thing to do. "Hi," I said. "I'm—"

Eric cut me off. "Don't say your name."

I bristled. Maybe Eric was too on edge to realize how he came off. Maybe his micromanaging tendencies increased with his stress level. Or maybe just he didn't care how much of an asshole he was, as long as he got his way.

Whatever the reason, the ice he was walking on had just become paper-thin.

I wanted to tell Eric the precaution was unnecessary because if this poor guy had actually been tailing him, he probably knew everything about us already. If worse came to worse, Eric could glamour my name away. Plus, since Eric had done a bang-up job establishing himself as the bad cop, I had a natural role to fill. If I treated the hostage as the human being he was, he might be more forthcoming. Which justified the introduction.

As I glared at Eric and he glared back, I realized that I was just as stressed and exhausted as he was. Thanks to the bond, we were probably feeding off each other. The thought made me feel worse. I didn't have the energy to fight. I had to pick my battles. The night was far from over.

I turned back to the hostage. "What's your name?" I asked him. I touched his shoulder to get a purchase on his thoughts. He flinched.

The hostage's mind was roiling with panic, but I was able to pluck out that he was named Dick Duncan and he was some kind of investigator for the State of Nevada. He was also convinced he was in hell—yes, literal hell, as in the territory ruled over by Satan. Dick believed Eric and I were the agents of his torture, Eric for obvious reasons and me because I resembled his ex-wife.

This was going to be an uphill battle.

"Dick," I said. "Why were you following us?"

Dick said something rendered unintelligible by the tape covering his mouth, but I was able to pick out that he had no idea who we were—which made sense since he thought we worked for Satan—and was in fact an investigator assigned to tail Felipe.

"He followed the Audi," I told Eric.

As soon as I said Audi, Dick thought something I really didn't like hearing.

"There's a magnet under the car," I said. "GPS. Tracking."

"What does that mean?" Eric said.

"It means they can find us."

"Who's they?"

"Who do you work for?" I asked Dick. He started thinking about Jesus. I had to stop myself from shaking him. I hoped the violent impulse came from Eric. "Where's your office?" He thought about a nondescript building, so I tried, "What do you do?" That's when I got what was I was looking for. "He's with the Nevada gaming commission," I told Eric. "Felipe's under investigation."

Eric looked furious—I didn't know if it was about the investigation, Felipe, or our general situation—but I wasn't terribly interested in finding out. Time was too precious. I had done my part, now Eric had to do his.

"You can't stay here," I said. "If the gaming commission or state police or whatever finds this church—"

"I'll crash the Audi," Eric said, sticking with our original plan. He nodded at the front seat. "You take care of him."

I followed Eric's gaze. Quinn was pale and getting paler.

I had two options. I could put Quinn in the Lincoln and race to the hospital, leaving his mother alone at Deidra's wedding. Having Sam as a buffer was better than nothing, but I wasn't confident that he alone could—or should—keep her in check. And if Dick's people—or worse, Felipe's—found the church, Sam would be as good as dead. Quinn had wanted his mom taken out of the home and he had to face the consequences. Which left me with option two.

"Okay," I said, making up my mind. "Let's lose your new friend." Eric gave me a sharp look, which I pretended not to see. "Glamour him, get him gone. I'll tell Quinn's what's going on."

As Eric took Dick by the chin and started telling him we didn't exist, I opened the car's front door.

Quinn looked like death. His olive skin was gray and his shirt was soaked with blood. A ragged gash ran across his shoulder and around the back of his neck. It looked like a wild beast had savaged him, which probably wasn't that far from the truth. He had lost so much blood, I could smell it. I wondered how Eric had been able to focus in the driver's seat. I decided I was better off not knowing.

I squeezed Quinn's hand. When he looked at me, I forced myself to smile. "How you holding up, trooper?"

He laughed, then winced. "Great," he said, against the grimace.

I felt eyes on the back of my neck and turned to see Eric. Behind him, Dick was meandering in the general direction of the street. He was looked drunk. I was a little worried he might wander into incoming traffic. "Go give him bus fare," I told Eric, who looked at me like I was crazy, but when I repeated, "Go," he went.

It gave me a few more moments alone with Quinn, which was what I had been after. "You're not going to like this," I said, "but I need you to be strong for me and go take care of your Mom."

"What's wrong?" Quinn could barely speak, but he tried to sit up.

"Nothing," I said, quick. "But she's here with a lot of other people and I need to make sure they're safe."

"She can't see me like this," Quinn said.

"Yes." That was a given. "And she can't be left alone." Quinn looked to be on the verge of passing out, so I cut to the chase. "You have to take Eric's blood."

I felt a presence behind me and knew Eric had returned. I couldn't look at him. I knew Eric didn't want to give Quinn his blood almost as much as Quinn didn't want to take it, but I also knew I could count on Eric being practical and Quinn, well, not so much.

"No," Quinn said, as I had expected. He turned his head away from me, which was about as dramatic of a dismissal as he could muster.

"Your mother is in that church with your sister and my friends," I said. "If anything happens, that you could have prevented—"

"Take me to the hospital," Quinn said.

"There's no time." Blood was pounding in my ears—Eric's anger, my own anger—but somehow, I kept my voice even. "The cops have a tracker on this car. Maybe they're already on their way. We're going inside and you have to be 110%."

"No," he repeated.

I'm ashamed to admit that I lost my temper. "This is your own fault. You want your Mom out of the home? Deal with it." I looked over at Eric. "Please."

Eric bit into his wrist. The crunch made me shudder. He pressed his arm to Quinn's mouth without ceremony. Quinn squirmed, shuddered, tried to shut his mouth, and ultimately failed when Eric grabbed the back of his head, shook it, and forced him to drink.

The effect was almost instantaneous. I watched as the gash on Quinn's shoulder knit itself together. Color flooded his face. But I really knew he was better when he shoved Eric—with real strength—and made him stumble backwards. Quinn leaned out the door and spat out a mouthful of blood. But it was, of course, too late.

"Fuck." He spat again and wiped his mouth, furious, smearing blood across his chin. He wiped his mouth again. I could feel anger and panic roiling through him. It was more intense than anything I usually picked up from his thoughts. I wondered if the suddenly clear connection was a side effect of my blood bond with Eric. It was too disturbing to dwell on.

I knelt down and stilled his arm before he could wipe his face another time. "Quinn." He didn't look at me but didn't throw me off. "You've got to get it together." His pants and, especially, shirt, were soaked with blood. "He can't wear this."

Eric nodded at the chapel. "Get him a tuxedo." Then he smiled at me and, I couldn't believe it, but his fangs poked out. "Nice dress."

I was pretty sure Eric was teasing me, but this wasn't the time. Lust ran though me and it must have been Eric's, because it sure as hell wasn't mine. Staring at a bloody, broken Quinn made me feel the opposite of sexy. "Dial it down," I told him over my shoulder. I pulled out my cell and called Sam.

"I need a tux," I said, when he answered. "A big one. For Quinn."

"You need it in the parking lot?"

"And fast." I hung up.

There was an uncomfortable silence as I looked at Quinn, Eric looked at me, and Quinn looked anywhere but the two of us. I understood why Quinn didn't want Eric's blood, but we hadn't had another choice. I would have tried to talk to him if I thought it would do any good.

Instead, I ripped a strip out of the wedding dress's petticoat and started wiping Eric's blood off Quinn's face. "Don't," he shrugged me off.

"Then you do it." I offered him the rag.

Quinn didn't take it. "You are just like him." He didn't look at Eric, but I had no doubt as to who 'him' was.

"No," I said. "I'm cleaning up your mess."

The chapel door swung open. Sam, thank god. I stood up.

It was Frannie.

When she saw Quinn, Eric, me, the car, the blood—she dropped the garment bag she'd been carrying.

Thankfully, Eric didn't need to be told what to do. I blinked and when I opened my eyes, he was halfway across the lot next to her, picking up the garment bag, and wrapping his hand around her arm. He pulled her to Felipe's car.

"Quinn." Frannie dropped to her knees when she her brother up close. His wound might have closed, but he was still covered in blood. "What's going on?"

Seeing his terrified sister was what Quinn needed to get his act together. He straightened. "I'm okay, babe." He ran his hand across his mouth, an attempt to clean his face.

I handed him the strip I'd torn off my wedding dress. This time he took it, but he still wouldn't meet my eyes.

"What happened?" Frannie said.

"Nothing," Quinn said, wiping his face. Frannie looked upset, but he forced a smile for her. "Babe, don't worry about it. You got clothes for me?"

Frannie rounded on Eric. "What did you do to him?" She wasn't taking no for an answer, which I kind of had to admire in principle, if not execution.

"Nothing," I said for Eric. While that wasn't strictly true, I didn't think Frannie would appreciate the nuances.

"Shut up," she said. "Fangbanger."

Eric growled at her—literally growled—and his fangs were down, which wasn't helping our case.

"Frannie," Quinn said, sharp. "Sookie's fine." He held out his hand for the garment bag. "Give me the clothes."

Frannie tossed them at him, shooting me a hateful glare. I couldn't look at her. I would have gotten sucked into a fight I didn't want to have.

Quinn unzipped the bag. The suit was an awful powder blue. We all stared. "It matches your eyes," Frannie said, embarrassed. She'd obviously picked it out.

It really didn't match Quinn's eyes, or complement him in any way, but he was a good enough brother to give her a smile. Fashion was the last thing we could worry about right now. I looked away as Quinn started to struggle out of his trousers. So did Frannie. We didn't have much to say to each other, so it was pretty quiet.

Eric took advantage of the lull to approach me. He opened his mouth to say something, but I shook my head and took his hand. I closed my eyes and let myself slump against him. It wasn't the time for an embrace, I was feeling so bad it was nice to have someone close, especially Eric. When I opened my eyes, Quinn was staring at us.

Quinn looked away as soon as I caught him and pulled the bloody T-shirt over his head. It had been a while since I'd seen Quinn without a shirt and he looked just as nice as my memories. I tried not to stare as he shrugged into his dress shirt, but it was hard to look away.

Between the bond and being so close, I knew Eric could probably feel every bit of my reaction to Quinn. I was natural and I couldn't help it—so while I didn't feel guilty exactly, I didn't feel great. The last thing I wanted to do was rub Quinn in Eric's face. Or vice versa.

Eric's hand tightened on my waist. We were already close, but he pulled me closer. I wriggled away. I wouldn't let myself be flaunted.

Quinn was staring in the other direction. "You ready?" he asked Frannie, as he buttoned his dress shirt towards decency. "How's Mom?"

Frannie opened her mouth to answer, but she never got a chance, because that's when the cavalry arrived.

And by cavalry, I mean the people coming to arrest us.

I heard it first: a deafening roar, like a freight train or a NASCAR engine. I scrambled onto the hood of the sports car, the closest thing we had to a crow's nest, and looked at the road. Six or so Lincoln Towncars, the doppelganger of the vehicle Sam and I had been driving cross-country, were barreling up the road. It looked like something out of James Bond. Or a really elaborate car commercial. The engines must have been souped-up to high heaven because I'd never seen a Lincoln sound so robust. They were practically churning up the road.

The Lincolns didn't have any identifying features, other than looking menacing, but I had no doubt they were coming for us. How had they found the chapel? As soon as I thought about it, I realized that it had to be the tracker on the Audi. Did that mean the cars were from the gaming commission? Lincolns aren't the most threatening vehicles, but these moved with such purpose they the looked like shock troops. I wasn't sure that Nevada gaming commission had their own private army. If so, they were a lot better funded than the Louisiana police. Which wasn't surprising. Louisiana came in next-to-last in just about everything, a perpetual second to poor Mississippi.

But I wouldn't figure anything out by gawking. I was in the mood for running first and wondering later.

"Someone's coming," I said as Eric helped me off the hood of the car. Quinn leapt to his feet and pushed Frannie behind him, out of danger, as he turned to look at the road. The Lincolns were closing fast, the nearest three blocks away. "In the church," I said. I grabbed the empty garment bag off the ground and tossed it to Frannie. "Get to your Mom," I told Quinn, who nodded and bolted to the door, his sister in front of him. Then I turned to Eric and wondered what the hell to do with him.

The Lincolns were two blocks away. Eric might drive fast, but he still had to obey the laws of physics. He couldn't escape. Presumed dead or not, once any type of law enforcement saw him, he'd be arrested. I made up mind.

"Inside," I told him. "We'll hide you." I wondered if the church had a basement.

Eric ignored me and took car keys out of his pocket.

"Come on, you can't outrace them," I said. The Lincolns were closing in.

Instead of heading for the driver's side door, as I expected, Eric went to the trunk. He unlocked it and took out a body bag.

Felipe.

I stared. I just stared. Hope ran out of me. In the mess, I'd forgotten that Eric had actually kidnapped the Vampire King of Nevada.

"What we going to do?" I said.

"Go to church," Eric replied. He slung the body bag over his shoulder like a sack of feed. I grabbed his hand. We ran as the Lincolns converged on the wedding chapel.

Sam and Quinn were waiting for us. As soon as we crossed the threshold, they bolted the door then shoved one of the pews from the chapel across the front as a makeshift barricade. The civilians—Pastor Fred, Craig, and Deidra—clumped near the chapel entrance. They stared at us wide-eyed. "What's going on?" Deidra asked. She looked very small in her poufy wedding dress.

I felt bad, but we didn't have time to bring them up to speed. "Deidra, I am so sorry."

"For what?" she asked, even though I thought it was pretty obvious. The church walls were thick, but by now, I could hear the sounds of the Lincolns rolling around the parking lot. Our newest enemy—whoever it was—had arrived.

Sam watched through the peephole. "Jesus."

"Felipe's people. Body guards." Quinn explained as he shoved a folding table against the door for good measure. I didn't think the single table would do much good, but whatever made him feel better.

"It's not the gaming commission?" I said.

Quinn looked at me like I was insane. "The gaming commission? Bunch of bureaucrats." He pointed out the window. "Those are vampires. How they found us—"

As far as I was concerned, there was only one way. Felipe's car. But if not the tracker, then how? "Eric, you have his keys?"

Eric tossed them to me. It took me one glance at the keychain to realize our problem.

"OnStar," I said.

Eric looked at the keys, looked at me, and then looked away. I was sure he just about wanted to kill something. I could relate. OnStar. It was so obvious, we'd missed it. I placed the keys on the table Quinn had added to the barricade. The logo on the keychain winked at me. Taunting. Of course Felipe's Audi had OnStar. What fancy car didn't? That wasn't a question I could really answer, because I didn't know much about expensive cars, but I did know that we'd screwed up. Big time.

Eric blew off steam by dumping the body bag on the floor. Everyone instinctively took a step back.

The bag wiggled. Inside, Felipe was struggling, but he didn't make a sound. I figured Eric had gagged and trussed him similar to Dick. Plus silver, of course. Deidra gasped. Her face was as white as her dress. Craig had his arm around her. He looked as if he were going to be sick. Staring at them, all I could think about was how my opportunity to make a good impression had been shot to hell. I had wanted to be validated as nice, normal Sookie—if only for one weekend. Instead, Craig and Deidra had seen my life for what it really was, body bags full of vampires and all. I almost wanted to cry, but I didn't have the energy. Or the time.

The body bag was scooting across the floor by inches. Felipe was going it blind, but I had to admire him for going. "Who knows this place?" Eric asked. No one stepped forward, so Eric flashed some fang. "Who works here?" That scared Pastor Fred into raising his hand. "I need an enclosed space," Eric said, putting his foot in front of Felipe and stopping his forward movement. The body bag started scooting in the other direction. "A trunk. Or a closet."

Pastor Fred stared at the body bag, speechless. Deidra was braver. "What's in there?"

I laughed. I don't know why. Nothing was funny. "That's the vampire king of Nevada," I said and laughed more. I couldn't stop. Maybe I was going crazy. They could lock me away next to Quinn's mom. At least I'd finally get some sleep.

"Sookie," Eric put his hand on my shoulder. "Calm down."

By now my laughing had turned to sobs. I didn't even know what I was upset about—other than everything. I felt so exhausted. I couldn't keep it together. I sank into a crouch. Eric came with me.

"Sookie," he repeated, and wiped tears away from my face. I buried my head in his chest, so I didn't see when Quinn's mom staked Felipe.

I heard her scream, though, and looked up in time to see her pull a shard of wood from the center of the twitching body bag. She was straddling it like a rodeo bull. She drove the stake into the bag a second time.

Quinn stood no more than a foot away. He must have seen the stake and her initial attack. He hadn't stopped her.

I couldn't blame him.

One second Eric was holding me and the next he'd thrown Mrs. Quinn against a wall. Deidra hollered. Quinn ran to protect his mother—as did Frannie—but Eric snarled at them and, on instinct, Quinn stepped back. I thought it was a smart move on Quinn's part. If I had noticed that Quinn hadn't stopped his mother, I could be sure Eric did too.

As for Mrs. Quinn, she didn't struggle. She just watched with the rest of us as the body bag slowly deflated. It was like watching the air being let out of a balloon. The stake, with nothing left to hold it up, clattered to the floor.

That's when I saw that it wasn't a stake at all, but a leg she'd ripped off one of the wooden folding chairs in the wedding chapel.

"Nothing less than he deserves," Mrs. Quinn said.

It had felt like an eternity, but in all, Felipe's final death took seconds.

I wiped the remnants of my tears away and got to my feet. I could feel sorry for myself later. "Eric," I said. " Let her go." It wasn't that Mrs. Quinn didn't deserve to be restrained. She did. But I didn't want her to shift in an effort to free herself.

Eric didn't look at me, but he loosened his grip and Mrs. Quinn slid down the wall, rubbing her neck. The bond was a mess of feelings, all of them dark. When Quinn put an arm around his mother, Eric's fangs ran out, and Deidra, almost anticlimactically, screamed.

As if things could possibly get worse, someone knocked on the front door of the church. Everyone froze, so we heard clear as day when the knocker said, "Hello?" I looked at Eric. His face darkened as the intruder continued with, "Sherriff Northman?"

Felipe's hired muscle was here to retrieve their master.

Quinn led his mother away from Eric, which was the best thing he could have done under the circumstances. Eric looked murderous. No one dared approach him, so I knew it had to be me. The knocking on the door increased in intensity as I walked over. My heart was thudding. I didn't know if he would yell at me or rage or what, but he surprised me by retracting his fangs. He looked exhausted.

"I have nothing," he told me, looking at the now-empty body bag. Felipe had been our bargaining chip.

"Sherriff Northman?" one of the vampires yelled from the parking lot.

"They don't know that." I didn't feel great, but somebody had to take charge. I nudged Eric towards the chapel. If he didn't want to move, I couldn't have made him, but I guess he was feeling malleable because he let me guide him. "Let's make stakes."

Abruptly, the knocking on the front door stopped. I figured that was a bad sign. The chances of vampires giving up are always zilch.

I led Eric into the chapel, where Quinn and his mom were way ahead of me, smashing the wooden folding chairs from the front row. I stilled Eric and made him stand back, in case splinters were flying. He was feeling so low he let me and stood in the middle of the aisle, like a ridiculously tall toddler. Oddly enough, it was Deidra, who seemed to have retained a weird affection for Eric ever since he glamoured her into thinking they were friends, who bothered to stand next to him. Moral support.

I didn't wait to see how Eric reacted—he probably ignored her, if the past was any indication—and went to check on Quinn. "Watch the splinters," I said, as he ripped the leg off a chair. His mom slammed another chair against the floor. It shattered. Her hair was wild and her bridesmaid dress had slipped off her bony shoulders. She looked like an escaped mental patient, which was exactly what she was. She also looked like she was having the time of her life.

"Here, take these," Quinn said, handing me about a dozen shards of wood that could serve as stakes. "It's a public building so they don't need an invitation to enter." Quinn might as well have said the magic invite, because at that moment one of the front windows shattered and a vampire climbed inside.

"Everybody down," I screamed, figuring that the people who knew how to handle it would handle it and the sitting ducks would take cover.

I, for one, numbered among the sitting ducks. As I dropped to the ground, I heard fabric ripping behind me—a sure sign that Quinn and his mom were shifting. My suspicions were confirmed when something enormous jumped over me and nudged me towards the pews with its wet nose. I didn't need to be told twice. I crawled towards cover. As I ducked under a pew, I saw another vampire—and then another—climb through the broken window.

I heard a roar, then a crash, and knew whatever fight we were going to face had begun.

As I tried to corral my poufy, white dress under the pew with me, I realized I was holding a handful of stakes. Ironically, the only person who could use them was Eric, since everyone else had shifted into their jungle cat of choice. I'd feel a lot better if Craig, Deidra, Frannie, and Pastor Fred had a stake on hand, but I didn't know how to get one to them without making a suicide run down the aisle.

I was terrified and my heart was thudding, but all I could think about—other than not dying—was how I had hoped that this weekend would be a vacation from all the vampire B.S. Eric and I had dealt with lately. I should have known better than to expect my life to be anything other than what it was.

I couldn't hear the fighting clearly beyond the first few seconds because somebody knocked into the chapel's sound system, triggering the wedding march, then excruciatingly loud pop music, 'Best of My Love,' 'I Got You Babe," and so on. I figured it was Pastor Fred's afterparty mix. I strained to listen past it. I heard screams and crashes and roars—and then, as if from far away, but growing closer—sirens.

Something grabbed my ankle. I'm not proud to admit that I screamed, but can you blame me? No one heard me over the music. A primal instinct took over and I started kicking as fast and as hard as I could, which was working just fine until whoever it was yanked me forward into the aisle. My attacker was one of Felipe's vampires. He pushed up my wedding dress and sank his fangs into my calf. It hurt like hell.

I cursed. I try not to as good practice, but this was one of those times.

The vampire moaned with pleasure and grabbed hold of my leg with both hands. His eyelids flickered, then shut. He was obviously enjoying his taste of delectable old me, which was just as well, because he didn't see me coming when I jammed one of my twelve stakes into his back.

His fangs detached at once, tearing a gash that hurt worse than the initial bite. Blood streamed from his mouth and my leg. What it amounted to is my white dress was suddenly splattered red. The vampire lunged at me, but before he could get close enough to do damage, he sort of collapsed into himself. All I got was a face full of dust. I sneezed.

The sirens were louder now, which meant they were closer. I saw red and blue lights bounce off one of the intact windowpanes.

Police.

I panicked, not so much because we were about to be arrested, but because I was sitting in the middle of the aisle like an idiot. If I stayed in the open, I'd be lucky to live to be handcuffed. I tried to crawl back under my pew, but it was too late. Someone grabbed the back of my dress, I heard fabric rip then felt a pair of hands on my shoulders. Another one of Felipe's vampires yanked me to me feet. He spun me around so we were cheek-to-cheek. I watched his fangs click down from uncomfortably close quarters. In the scuffle, I had dropped my stakes. I tried whatever I could—I jammed my hands in his face, tried to stick my fingers in his eyes—but he was too strong, he batted my hands away, and yanked me against him. One second, I felt his fangs on my neck and the next, I didn't, because Eric had appeared out of nowhere and ripped my attacker's head off. Blood flew everywhere, spraying my wedding dress. My attacker's body crumpled to the floor.

I was too shocked to scream.

Eric dropped the vampire's head, which hit the ground like a bowling ball. His hands were so red it looked like he was wearing gloves. Thankfully, it didn't seem like much of the blood was his own.

"Are you okay?" I asked Eric. By now, the sound of sirens was almost deafening. We were all going to jail.

"Let's leave," he said. "Just us. Start over."

"How?" I asked.

Eric pointed up, towards a skylight I hadn't seen. And I remembered. He could fly.

I won't lie and say I wasn't tempted. I didn't want to go to jail and I wouldn't have minded trying Eric without the politics. But he was only offering because everything he'd worked for was gone. Plus, I liked my job and my friends. I didn't want to give up my life, even if I was headed for the state pen and not back to Merlotte's. And I'd never leave Sam and Quinn to face the cops alone.

It would never work. What would Eric do without Fangtasia? His area? He'd need someone to manage. If I took him up on his offer, that person would be me.

"No," I said as I ducked a projectile. Somebody's leg. A vampire's, because it turned to dust before it hit the wall.

Eric didn't seem surprised. He sank down onto a pew. "I don't know what to do," he said. He looked exhausted, but didn't seem the least bit sorry for himself. It was a statement of fact. Then he looked at me, questioning. "You?"

"Come out with your hands up," someone was yelling through a megaphone. I thought that only happened in movies.

I sat next to him. "Not yet," I said. "Give me a second."

"A second is too long," Eric said and he was right because, in that instant, the chapel windows burst inward from a spray of automatic gunfire. I ducked. Deidra screamed. I saw a lion—probably Sam—crawl towards her through the pews.

The front door swung open to reveal a SWAT team. And behind them: Victor Madden.

I'd give him one thing.

He knew how to make an entrance.


	25. Three Months Later

_This is it. The final chapter. End of the road. Thanks for your time and reviews. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. I hope to write one or two short things before _Dead Reckoning_, so please keep your eyes peeled._

_Belongs to Charlaine Harris and HBO._

* * *

**Three Months Later**

So, we got out of that one.

How? I barely understand it myself.

The long version? Victor broke down the door and Eric just started talking.

The short version? We got lucky.

Seeing Victor lit a fire in Eric. He stood up—as one, the SWAT team trained their guns on him—but he acted like he didn't notice and greeted Victor as a conquering hero. Eric told Victor their plans were complete, then opened the body bag, poured out the ash, and—here's the kicker—said Felipe was dead and he had killed him.

Scratch that. I believe Eric's exact words were, "brought him to justice."

This was about the time I started to panic. One bullet wouldn't do much to Eric, but I wasn't interested in seeing ten automatic rifles turn my boyfriend into undead Swiss cheese.

If I may pause:

Eric's plan was in the spit and twine stage right then. Calling it a 'plan' is almost too generous. It was a reflex. Pure survival instinct. An inability to go down without a fight.

That's when we got lucky.

How?

Victor hesitated.

Eric dumped Felipe's ashes all over Victor's shoes, declared that justice had been done, and, for just one second, Victor stood there with his mouth open.

His indecision saved our lives.

One moment, Victor was at a loss for words and, the next, Eric filled the silence. What followed was no more logical than what had gone before it, but authority in the room had shifted. Victor dropped the ball, Eric picked it up, and now, even though I knew Eric was making everything up on the fly, the words coming out of his mouth had a ring of truth.

As Eric spun an yarn featuring secret conspiracies, double agents, and a partnership between himself and Victor that had gone back months, the SWAT team lowered their weapons, Deidra, Craig, and Pastor Fred crawled out from under their pews, and I sat down on the altar to catch my breath, just in case we had to start running again. The only people not listening were Quinn and his mom, who lay in the middle of the aisle like tiger skin rugs, panting and exhausted.

The gist of Eric's story was as soon as he found out about Felipe's involvement in Andre's trafficking ring—yes, now Felipe was the kingpin—he contacted Victor. Together, they hatched a plot to bring the organization down from the inside, which involved Eric going into deep cover. Eric, who never had any trouble tooting his own horn, gathered steam around this point and really laid it on thick about the personal danger he'd faced to bring down a corrupt leader and so on, blah, blah, blah. Eric said he faked his death, with Victor's help, to throw Felipe off the scent.

For his part, Victor looked a little shell-shocked. It's hard to tell with vampires. Their facial expressions, especially in public, range from neutral to impassive, but there was something particularly still about him. It was as if he didn't have the energy to move because his mind was going 1000 miles a minute trying to outpace Eric.

The turning point came when Eric finally stopped talking, looked at Victor and said—I remember this almost exactly, because I was so shocked—"This wouldn't have been possible without your leadership."

Eric inclined his head and, just like that, Victor was king.

After that, Victor went along with Eric's story. He was almost trapped. The public nature of Eric's confession—in front of humans, other vampires, and the motley collection of shifters—made it easier for him to act like it was true. Plus, Victor got what he wanted. Mostly. There was one outstanding thread: Eric wasn't finally dead.

After Victor's buy in, it was a matter of mopping up loose ends.

When Eric finished his rigmarole, he went with Victor, Felipe's surviving vampires and half the SWAT team to make a statement, leaving me to deal with the regular Las Vegas Police when they arrived to arrest whomever had been shooting up the Alamo Wedding Chapel. Luckily, the remaining SWAT guys were able to flash some badges and make the problem go away, leaving me free to take an inventory of casualties.

Miraculously, we had all survived. The shifters were licking small wounds and Pastor Fred had suffered a nasty bite, but it was nothing that a Band-Aid and some glamour couldn't cure. I applied the former and Eric, when he returned to the Holiday Inn after negotiating with Victor, provided the latter.

It took one more night of meetings between Eric and Victor and then, on paper, it was like this whole mess had never happened. It was as if someone flicked a switch and everyone who'd been hounding Eric—the media, the cops—started singing his praises.

I don't know how they fixed the paper trail implicating Eric. Since Victor had fabricated it in the first place, I guess he was able to undo it. Andre ended up taking most of the well-deserved blame, while Felipe emerged as a secret mastermind. "A pillar of the Nevada business community," FOX News had said in their expose, "rotten to the core." The Nevada Gaming Commission came out to substantiate, saying they had Felipe under investigation for the casino fraud. I spotted Dick Duncan, Eric's kidnap victim, in an interview on the local news. He looked groomed and healthy. I was glad he'd made it to the bus.

Victor had been glamoring the Assistant US Attorney in New Orleans. I knew I shouldn't see that as a good thing, but, god help me, I did. The doped-up fed helped create a fake history for Eric as a government asset, testifying that he had been working secretly to expose Felipe with signoff from Victor and the Justice Department. So on top of squeaking out of everything alive, Mr. Modest got to preen over a new James Bond persona.

Basically, we'd gotten really lucky. If Victor hadn't hesitated, we would be dead. Eric acted like he'd known everything would work out, but I could tell that he was just as relieved—and surprised—as I was.

About a month after we came home from Vegas, Eric and I ran across the FOX News expose clearing his name, almost by accident. We'd known it was coming because Eric declined FOX's request for an interview. They didn't bother to ask me. Since Eric wasn't talking and Shep wasn't hosting, I hadn't planned on tuning in. But Eric happened to be over at my house the night it aired and we stumbled across it flipping channels while he had his True Blood.

For better or worse, Victor told Eric's side of the story. On the surface, he was sweet as pie, smiling sans fangs, going on and on about Eric's bravery, tenacity, how he was an asset to the vampire community, blah, blah, blah. After 30 seconds of this drivel, Eric found the remote and muted the television. We sat for a good minute or two watching Victor talk without sound. I noticed how tense his shoulders were, the tightness in his jaw. Something angry flashed in his eyes, even as he smiled.

I knew, without a doubt, that he was waiting to kill us.

That was the real failing in Eric's last-ditch pitch for survival. Sure we'd escaped with our skins, but Victor Madden was now the King of Nevada, Louisiana and Arkansas.

We'd solve that problem, unless, of course, it solved us.

These days, my most pressing issue was Andy Bellefleur's burger. Merlotte's had survived a week without Sam and me (we both took other road trips after the Vegas debacle, but more on that later). Kennedy had done a first-rate job running the bar while Sam was away. When we returned, I fell into my routine easily. After the vacation I'd had, even an overtime shift felt like a blessing.

Which brings me to Andy Bellefleur's burger. Like most people in Bon Temps, Andy is a creature of habit. He always orders a cheeseburger and always eats it medium, even though he likes to be heard ordering his meat "still kicking." The regular girls know Andy's game and give him what he wants instead of what he orders, but Andy confused Sam's newest waitress, Laura, by sending his nearly raw burger back to the kitchen for being overcooked. Laura was just out of Bon Temps High and hadn't seen a lot of life yet, so she took the mix-up as the end of the world.

"I'll handle it," I told her, when I came across her sobbing on the shoulder of an exasperated D'Eriq. I'd already picked up the whole story from her thoughts, but I nodded politely as she filled me in.

"My tip?" she asked, through sniffles.

"All yours," I assured her. I picked up Andy's new burger—cooked stiff as a hockey puck—and swung around to his table.

"Shame on you," I said as I set it in front of him. "Scaring the new girl."

"I want what I want," Andy said, taking a bite and getting on with his day.

"She going to work out?" Sam asked as I passed the bar on my way to the kitchen. He was looking after Laura, who'd just come back on the floor, eyes red.

"She's fine." She was good as anyone else who worked here, if a little young. "Just learning Andy's peculiarities."

"Hm," Sam said. "That would take a lifetime."

Kennedy, who'd been eavesdropping, laughed, before pouring Jane Bodehouse her second 7 & 7 of the day. It was only 2 pm.

I turned back to the kitchen, but Sam caught my arm. "Sookie, wait," he said. "Happy birthday."

Oh yeah. I was 27 today.

"You and Eric doing anything?" Sam asked.

I nodded. "But I have a date first," I thought about it. "You should come."

"A date?" Sam looked like he'd rather mop the floors.

"It's not what you think."

I had joined Pam's lesbian softball team, which was only 'Pam's team' in that she sponsored it and used it as a pool from which to periodically pick up women. A couple of the girls told me Pam came to practice more often since I'd joined and I was secretly flattered. Tonight was our first game. We were taking on a group of public school teachers from Monroe.

"I'm pitching," I told Sam. I hadn't started a game since high school. Hell, I hadn't played a game since high school, short of pick-up wiffle ball in Sam's mom's backyard.

Sam beamed. "I'll be your cheerleader."

Sam had come out of the mess in Las Vegas almost unscathed. As part of his agreement with Victor, Eric somehow fixed it so that Sam's name and license plates were expunged from anything to do with the biker mess in Texas. Craig and Deidra, who had both miraculously survived the showdown at the Alamo, got married the next night at the Desert Springs Wedding Chapel. They had been glamored into thinking the first night was lost to a bender and were disappointed to find the Alamo Wedding Chapel closed for repairs. I couldn't help but think by switching chapels, they'd dodged a bullet—figuratively, this time. Everyone's entitled to their own fancies, but really. Who'd want to start their marriage at the Alamo? Sam, Quinn, Frannie and I attended the wedding. Eric—busy negotiating with Victor—was missed by no one except Deidra, who still insisted on believing they were friends.

Quinn left that night. He spent 15 minutes inside a room with Eric, Victor and a handful of other vampires. When he emerged, he told me he was headed home. I didn't ask what bargain they'd struck and Quinn didn't volunteer the information. He did say he planned to transfer his mom to a new rest home for supes that had just opened in Atlanta. Apparently those kind of facilities were becoming more common, thanks to the were reveal. I didn't know anything about the vampires in Georgia and couldn't remember which of Eric's zones it was in, but I hoped Quinn and his family would have an easier time of it, regardless. I gave him a big hug and he said he'd call once he was settled. I didn't expect him to follow through.

He didn't.

He did send me a birthday card. I was surprised and touched that he remembered. _S— Thinking of you_, had been the note. No signature. He left a return address. Atlanta. I clipped it off the envelope and tucked it away in my nightstand, just in case.

I hoped I'd never need it.

Sam, Deidra, and Craig returned to Wright the following morning. Deidra told me she and Craig were saving up for a honeymoon and I said they deserved a nice one, which they did, especially after the hell Eric and I had put them through. Sam didn't say anything outright, but I suspected that he was tagging along back to Texas in the hopes of mending fences between Craig and his Mom. I thought it was a fool's errand, but I told him good luck anyway and said I was glad he was finally getting his well-earned family time.

"I'll watch out for cops," Sam said and waved as he climbed into the truck, riding shotgun. Craig honked as they drove away. Deidra stared at out the back window like a puppy.

Which left Eric and me.

I'd had enough of Lincoln town cars to last me a lifetime. Thankfully, Sam had bought rental insurance, so I was able to exchange the Lincoln for a sedan with an intact trunk. I'll spare you the story I came up with to explain the hole in the trunk and just say it involved a model rocket. The new rental wasn't anything fancy, but it gave Eric enough room to stretch out during the day and had the juice to get us from Vegas back to Area 5.

Once Sam left, I slept. I thought about sightseeing, but after everything we'd been through, the bed in the Holiday Inn seemed more attractive than Sin City. Victor had offered to put Eric and me up in Felipe's casino, but we declined.

I slept that whole day. I woke up when Eric called me, just after sunset, and demanded I unlock him from the trunk of the rental car. With that, we took off for home.

Eric didn't bring up the idea of a vacation until we hit the Texas state line. I don't know if geography had anything to do with it—the shifting borders of vampire politics were so complex I tried not to pay attention unless I absolutely had to—but, either way, he seemed to breathe easier when we crossed the border and suggested that we might not want to head home quite so fast.

I was surprised. I had thought Eric would want to shore up his Area stat, but when he asked me to pull into the shoulder, he showed me just how eager he was to linger. Needless to say, I found his argument convincing.

Eric didn't know west Texas and I forbid him to call any of his vampire contacts for travel tips, so we drove aimlessly until we found a cheap motel with a nice view of the desert. We holed up and had ourselves a midweek getaway. "Not a honeymoon," I found myself telling him for the umpteenth time, between the shower and the bed, sometime on the second night. I'd had enough of weddings to last a lifetime. Eric laughed and said something ending with "wife" that I couldn't decode between all those fangs. Then, he tackled me.

I slept during the days, catching up on rest, and subsisted on snacks from the motel vending machine until Eric noticed and forced me to go out for dinner. The only place in town was a mom-and-pop steakhouse. They didn't serve True Blood, so Eric got nothing. I felt all kinds of awkward—not only because we were the (seemingly) youngest people in the place—we were obviously the only mixed couple the town had ever seen. All the locals ignored their rib eyes to stare at yours truly. After I made the mistake of ordering my meat rare, Eric joined in, watching me eat the bloody sirloin with a fascination that creeped me out so much I couldn't stomach more than a few bites.

On our way back to the motel, I realized it had been our first dinner date. I decided that it would also be our last.

That was three months ago.

It had been pretty unremarkable time. Other than our week in Texas, Eric and I hadn't spent a lot of time together. I was busy at Merlottes and Eric had been tied up rebuilding Fangtasia. We tried to see each other a few times a week and it mostly worked out, but sometimes it didn't.

Fangtasia's grand reopening had happened last week. Despite the hasty whitewash of Eric's reputation, no one showed up except the most desperate of fangbangers. Eric pretended like he'd expected it, but I could tell he was disappointed. Afterwards, I'd gone over to his house and we'd talked about it. My personal theory was that the fangbangers came because, on some level, they hoped Eric was actually the monster from the fake news stories. Eric said this was fine so long as they spent money in his bar.

Business did not pick up on the second night open. Or the third. It was clear that it would be an uphill battle to get Fangtasia back to its previous level of activity before the arson. If the bar didn't perform economically, I knew Victor would take the opportunity to unseat Eric as sheriff, at the very least. But we'd solve that problem when we had to.

And we would have to.

On the upside, the new Fangtasia looked fantastic, if low-rent Boris Karloff was your decorating style of choice. Eric had pumped his personal savings into the new place, and ended up with lots of fake velvet, creepy medieval light fixtures and trashy vampire posters, just a few strategically-placed scraps away from porn.

So, basically, it looked like the old place, with a fresher coat of paint.

Eric and I had been subjected to a terrible double date with Pam's SWAT team girlfriend a few weeks after we came home from Vegas. Pam was quick to tell us that the date had been SWAT team's idea. Eric was obligated to say yes because Pam's girlfriend saved him in the first place by tipping him off to Victor's raid. Since Fangtasia was under construction at that point, we had drinks at Pam's house—beers for me and SWAT team, blood for Eric and Pam.

It was a disaster. SWAT team was tall, blonde, loud, pushy and, on the whole, looked and acted a little too much like Eric for me not to be weirded out. I think Eric picked up on it too. He was uncharacteristically quiet and kept looking at Pam out of the corner of his eye.

We visited the Fangtasia construction site afterwards—Eric wanted to check on the progress—and Pam cornered me in the half-finished ladies' room. All I was doing was fixing my hair, thank goodness, because she walked in without knocking and locked the door behind her.

"What did you think?" Pam asked. "Eric does not like her."

I was glad Pam couldn't read my thoughts. "Does she make you happy?"

Her answer broke my heart. "It's useful to have someone in the police."

"Then good." I turned on the faucet to wash my hands, so I wouldn't have to look at her. Nothing came out. The plumbers hadn't hooked up water yet.

I never thought I would say this, but I was glad Pam and SWAT team didn't have an exclusive relationship. A few days later, when Pam drove me to my first softball practice, she went home with the catcher, leaving me to call Eric for a ride back to his place.

So, for the most part, the last three months had been easy. Or as easy as my life ever got.

There was one dark spot.

The biker I shot in the gas station was named Ryan Brown. He was 37 and lived in Henderson, Nevada, just south of Las Vegas. Eric, Sam and I burned, then buried, his body somewhere in the Texas desert between Dallas and Wright. As far as I knew, he had never been found.

I didn't want Ryan's family to live with a question hanging over them, so I asked Bill to use the computer to help me find them. I didn't tell Bill the full story and he didn't ask.

Lately, relations between Eric and Bill had been strained. The fight started when Eric forced Bill to tell Victor he burned down Fangtasia. Victor had seen through Bill's story and held him captive as a result. The whole experience had been fairly unpleasant for Bill, go figure.

Eric didn't care (also, go figure). Eric thought Bill hadn't lied well enough and Bill thought Eric shouldn't have put him in that position in the first place. Both of them liked to complain about it to me, loudly and at length. I was sympathetic to Bill, but I understood Eric's exasperation. It wasn't as if he had been sipping blood under a cabana during Bill's ordeal. No one had an easy time of it.

Personally, I thought their fight was a lot of huffing and puffing over nothing, because Victor had let Bill go and Bill was still making Eric money and everyone had his safety, his home, and his livelihood, for now, at least. Or so I wanted to tell them, while they were busy whining to me. I was trying to be more diplomatic, but it wasn't getting me far.

Anyway, what it amounted to was Bill was mad at Eric, not me, so he helped me research Ryan without asking questions or telling Eric, which was an added bonus.

Ryan's parents were dead, but he had an ex wife who lived in Utah. When Bill gave me her phone number, I stared at it for a long time.

"Do you want me to call?" Bill finally asked. He might not know exactly what was going on, but he was a smart guy.

"No," I said. "Thanks." It was something I had to do myself.

If I was a drinker, I might have summoned some liquid courage before I called, but as I wasn't, I just went home, picked up the phone, and dialed. Ryan's ex-wife's name was Sandra.

I told her I was a cop. I said her ex-husband had passed in a traffic accident in Texas. I hated to lie, but I didn't know what else I could do.

She was quiet. I thought the connection had gone out, but then she asked me if I had family. I told her I did.

I'm not sure what we said after that. Words kind of stuck in my throat. I think I said I was sorry. I didn't know what more to do. Anything seemed inadequate.

I felt worst when she thanked me.

We hung up and I turned around to find Eric watching from the doorjamb. He'd let himself in. It was my own fault for giving him a key.

I didn't know what to say to him any more than I had to Sandra. I must have been really out of it, because he took the phone out of my hand and put it back in its holder. Then he sat next to me. The silence grew and we spoke at the same time,

"Lover—"

"I feel horrible."

"You're not," he said.

So, that was that. I had done the little I could.

Ryan Brown had attacked me and I'd killed him. I'd done it to save Sam's life, and my own, but that didn't change the fact that he was gone forever because of me. I never found out who sent him after us. Victor probably. As far as I knew, Eric never asked.

I didn't know much about Ryan outside of his ex-wife's phone number. I didn't know how badly he needed the money he must have been paid to come after me. I didn't know if he took the job because he liked the thrill.

What I did know was Ryan had made the choice to attack me and I'd chosen to defend myself. Maybe I was right, maybe I wasn't, but I'd done what I'd done and I had to live with it. I knew I was supposed to turn the other cheek, but I also couldn't believe God had put me on this earth without expecting me to protect that gift.

I hoped I was right or, at least, not completely wrong.

I couldn't know for sure.

I had called Sandra about a month ago. I had thought about Ryan since then and I was sure that I'd think about him in the years to come, but today was my birthday and it was a welcome distraction. The game, particularly.

We were playing at a middle school in Shreveport. Sam drove me. I planned to stay the night at Eric's so I could just ride home with him. When we got to the field, I introduced Sam to the team and he blushed, cute as pie, after being cooed over by ten ladies in uniform. Afterwards, he sat on the bleachers and watched us warm up.

I was beyond excited about starting. After so much time off the field, it felt like a real treat. I got off to a slow start and walked my first batter, but loosened up by the second inning. After my first strikeout, Sam cheered, to the amusement of my team and the derision of Monroe's fans. I smiled and waved, before turning back to the game. When I looked up at the end of the inning, Eric was sitting on the bleachers next to Sam. I smiled and tried not to stare like they were zoo animals. The two of them, sitting together. How far we'd come.

Of course, when I checked on them later, Sam had moved to the row of seats below Eric and had a sour expression on his face. Baby steps. Having them both at my game was enough of a birthday present.

Getting Eric and Sam within spitting distance of each other was as far as my birthday juju extended. We lost to the Monroe schoolteachers, despite Pam's best efforts to glamour their star slugger from the sidelines. Pam was wearing a baseball cap for the occasion and watched the game from the bench with the rest of the team.

"In my day, women did not play sports," she said, when I plopped down next to her halfway through the game.

I didn't know what to say. Technically, it was still Pam's 'day,' and would presumably be for some time. "I can teach you if you want."

"Hm," she said, but smiled. We were quiet for a second, watching one of Pam's conquests pop a fly. "You make an interesting noise when you throw," she observed.

Now it was my turn to say, "Hm."

Eric congratulated me after the game and said that if it had been only me playing, we would have won. I wanted to tell him that wasn't how teams worked, but accepted the compliment in the spirit it was given. Sam was more reasonable with a, "Good game." Eric watched like a hawk as Sam gave me a hug. Sam promised he'd try to make it to our next game, then drove home.

Afterwards, Eric and I went to Fangtasia. Sure, it was my birthday, but we weren't making a big deal of it. Since Fangtasia wasn't doing well, Eric wanted to put in extra face time.

And, of course, there was the small fact that I hadn't told Eric it was my birthday.

I didn't know why. I wasn't hiding it. It just hadn't come up. Honestly, it didn't feel all that important. My life had too many 'events' already. I just wanted to enjoy a normal evening.

I wore my softball uniform into Fangtasia, which made me stick out even more than usual. Oh well. Eric had some paperwork to do in his office and I didn't want to watch him sign forms, so I just went straight to his booth—rebuilt in its old place—and started a mystery novel.

There were ten fangbangers scattered throughout the club, an improvement from last week's grand total of eight. They perked up when Eric finally emerged from his office and came to the booth to sit by me.

"How's it going?" I asked.

Eric shook his head, which I took to mean not good. "Victor is breathing down my neck," he said. "Business needs to pick up."

"Any ideas?" I looked around the room. Ten fangbangers did not a profit make.

"Pam suggested ladies night," he said. "Completely self-serving."

I laughed, which had been his intention. Under the table, he put his hand on my knee. We both glanced up when someone new walked into the bar. I looked away, trying not to seem too eager. It was another fangbanger.

"Slow and steady," I said. "People have to get used to the idea of you again."

"No," Eric said. "I need to do something extreme."

I never found out what he had in mind, because my phone buzzed. _Remy Savoy_, the display read, _Red Ditch_, _LA_.

"I have to take this," I told Eric.

"Happy birthday, Aunt Sookie."

"Hunter." I was touched that Remy had remembered my birthday and made Hunter call. But then, I felt Eric's eyes on me and realized I had made a huge mistake.

Eric didn't know Hunter was like me and he couldn't ever find out. It wasn't that I didn't trust Eric. I trusted him— with me. With other people, I could trust him only as far as their interests aligned with Eric's interests. And let's just say Eric's interests didn't involve letting Hunter go to elementary school.

Eric was close enough to overhear every word we said.

Or didn't say. The line had gone quiet.

"Hunter, are you there?"

"Did you hear me?" He sounded so eager. He must have been thinking at me.

"You'll have to speak up, sweetie. This connection's funny." I tried to keep my fear in check. Eric could read the bond as easily as he could overhear our conversation.

Hunter sounded disappointed. "You didn't hear me?"

"I hear you fine now." I couldn't be talking to him a breath away from Eric. It was too easy for something to slip. Too much had slipped already. "Hunter, I've got to go." I'd call him tomorrow, when I'd was back in Bon Temps.

"My dad wants to talk to you—"

I heard muffled sounds, the receiver being passed. I was so aware of Eric, sitting less than a foot away. His hand was still on my knee. I almost got up and walked across the room, just to get some distance, but I knew it wouldn't make a lick of difference to Eric's hearing if I was right next to him or over with the fangbangers.

"Sookie?"

"Remy, I—" I tried to cut him off at the pass, but he beat me with,

"He's getting worse."

That pissed me off. "He can't get worse. It is what it is." I hoped Remy was out of Hunter's earshot, even though the poor kid would overhear it in his thoughts anyway. "Look, thanks for calling, but I'm with my boyfriend. Let's talk tomorrow."

With that, I hung up. I was less concerned about hurting Remy's feelings than Hunter's.

I put my cell on the table. Eric was quiet. I was afraid to look at him. He was a smart guy and he'd been given enough information to put the pieces together.

Eric surprised me by opening with, "It's your birthday." He hadn't meant it as a question, but I nodded anyway. He looked pensive. "This boy means a lot to you?"

As soon as he said that, I knew he knew. Why would Eric care that Hunter was important to me? Because he was already weighing his options.

His face was blank. It was only because I knew him so well I could tell that his wheels were turning. If I was an asset, what did that make Hunter? Well, more or less the same thing, except for the fact that he was a child. Six years old. Young. Impressionable.

_A prize._

I stared at Eric. A _prize_? I sure as hell hadn't thought that. Which left only one explanation as to where it had come from. Panic rushed through me. Eric looked up, sharp. If he hadn't been sure about Hunter before, he definitely was now.

I had to get myself under control. I time to needed to think. But before I could do anything, Eric seemed to come to a decision.

I was too on edge to be anything other than direct. "What?"

"Nothing," he said.

He could mean two things by nothing—let me change the subject to distract you, Sookie—or really, _nothing_. That he was putting it aside, because, in his words, this boy meant 'a lot.'

When it came to Eric, there were a lot of things I didn't need to know. This was not one of them. "Nothing what?"

I wasn't sure what I'd do if he didn't give me the answer I needed to hear. I didn't have my car. Even if I found one, there was no way I could beat Eric to Red Ditch. I had to call Remy. Maybe Claude would help us.

Eric stared at me. I knew he could feel my anxiety. "Eric," I began, "Hunter is—"

"Nothing," he said, and meant it.

I was speechless.

"How was work?" he asked.

I was not ready to change the subject. "Eric—"

He cut me off. "He's nobody."

Eric looked miserable. I reached for the bond. I felt anger. Frustration. And disappointment, most of all. It told me, clearer than any words, that he meant what he said. He was prepared to forget Hunter. "Thank you."

He acted like he didn't hear me. "How was work?"

"Thank you," I repeated.

It was the best birthday gift he could have given me.


End file.
